


Big Eyed Fish

by Icarus_fallen, Jaded (Icarus_fallen)



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:45:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_fallen/pseuds/Icarus_fallen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_fallen/pseuds/Jaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for season finale!!!!!!!!!</p>
<p>AU story with a timeline starting mid-season finale (more details in notes inside).  When Red goes to kill Kirk, instead of just trying to stop him Ressler ends up arresting Red.  The first chapter has the entire backstory and the rest will build off from there. </p>
<p>Icarus (sara) and Jaded (Rhia who will not write porn in this one she promises) are double teaming this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy All. This is a joint effort between Sara (Icarus) and Rhia (Jaded). Yes the Lesbians have combined forces to write something. 
> 
> The title comes from Dave Matthews Band (who we just saw the other day while I was on vacation [freeloading on one of her trips] and Sara was working. Anyways, on the car ride home we had to listen to DMB and we have been working on this fic since the season final. It started out as a solo project and I came in to help move it along after reading it. The point: Big Eyed Fish (the version we reference) is from the Live version of Busted Stuff. It is a great song (if you haven’t listened to it Spotify it seriously). We heard the verse below and bam we had a title. Monkey=Red, tree= pre lizzie life where we assume he took less few personal risk, run off to city=work with Lizzie.

**You see this monkey sitting up in his tree**  
**Until one day decided to climb down**  
**And run off to the city**  
**But look at him now tired and drunk**  
**The monkey is living in the street**  
**As good as dead**  
**You see cause every monkey should know  
** **Stay up in your fucking tree**

\--Verse from _Big Eyed Fish_ Dave Matthews Band    

* * *

Silence, the lack of sound, were not peaceful things anymore. Unlike most prisons he had been in, this one was silent. His hypothesis was they purposely made each of the prisoners cells soundproof. He had yet to work out a strong methodology to test his hypothesis, other than asking, which only earned him more pain. If a prisoner screams and no one hears him, is he screaming? Schrödinger's prison. His laughter at that thought echoed in his cell. He was the cat in the box. Was he alive or dead or both?

Or maybe it was like that tedious movie he had watched one night out of pure boredom. Where just a few hours on a planet were the equivalent of a year on Earth. That was life inside his cement box. Time took no meaning because he honestly could not tell you how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years he had spent inside this cement box. He had tried when he first woke inside this cement box to keep track of time. Too many bouts of forced unconsciousness and monotony left him hopeless to actually know how long he had been here. What he could count were the number of times they fed him, gave him water, allowed him to shower (either with an actual shower or a pressure hose they would spray into his cell), tortured him, gave him clean clothes, left him in darkness, left him with the bright lights shining down, or the number of times the same song played over and over when it came on.

**Hi my name is, what, my name is, who, my name is, slim shady**

There seemed to be no determinable pattern to their actions, or at least he could not figure out a pattern. But who knew, he lost his mind had left this place at some point. Time had no meaning in this place. All that mattered was survival and preventing further pain by making the Constant happy. The Constant was constant. While the other tortures, who never spoke, would change occasionally, the Constant remained. The Constant spoke, the Constant had to be made happy or there would be pain. Pain took on a different meaning. For some people any pain was bad, but after living in constant pain, what mattered was how painful the pain was. Good days the pain was a five, a nagging reminder of life as it was now. Life where time had no meaning, only meaning was the Constant. The bad days, when the Constant was not happy, pain was a 10, or excruciating. Those days the only thing that mattered was pain and trying to focus on what the Constant wanted and ensuring he got it.

Raymond did not like to think about the Constant. If he was not in the cement box then things were good, even on the excruciatingly painful days because all pain eventually fades to a tolerable level. Raymond had taken to shaking when he thought about the Constant appearing, and it became worse when the Constant appeared. New nervous ticks, besides the uncontrollable shaking, were formed. One was to play an imaginary piano on his leg. The music played in his mind, he held onto the song during the worse times. It was the last song he had played for his daughter while she practiced for her recital. It was a song that always brought him comfort. Even when his fingers were broken, he still somehow tapped out the notes on his leg. Now he did it without noticing.

It had been a few sessions of light than darkness and they had not appeared yet. Light was possibly the worse of the two modes, as the florescent lights were powerful and left his retinas feeling burnt. This was especially true after a long session of darkness. The Constant was coming soon, he just had that feeling. It would bring pain; he was sure of it. He had pissed the Constant off last time.

Raymond had taken to counting aloud, he originally thought it was in his head, but the man asked him what he was counting to or for. Raymond was counting to keep track of time. To have some way to know the time, at least the time since he started counting. Time seemed important to him. He would not be the dead/alive cat if he had time, or at least that was what his fragile fragmented brain told him. When Raymond refused to stop counting, at least that is how the constant saw it, pain was the Constants response.

The way Ray would tell it, if he could, was that he could not stop. He wanted to stop when the man told him to. God did he want to stop to just prevent excruciating pain, but something in him snapped and he just kept counting.

The shocks took his breath away, but he somehow kept count in his head, and when speech returned to him he started counting aloud again. That is when they secured his hands behind his back, so he would not fight back, and started beating on him. A powerful punch to his unprotected torso dropping him to the ground. But the two mutes with the Constant just pulled him back to his feet. Even as he was dangling by his arms between two men, the Constant beat on him. When he kept going, the man switched from his torso to his face. At some point he stopped counting, only because he physically could not anymore. He started choking on his own blood as it poured down his throat from what was likely a broken nose. His own blood ran down his face onto what was an orange uniform. Now it was stained red.

Shaking at the memory of the session that ended for Raymond when he finally passed out, by the persistent pain in his legs and back that did not end the session for the Constant. It had to have been at least a week ago. The blood had dried and some of the cuts on his face had started to heal by the feel of it. Red could not tell for sure because he was in what he called a dark period. No light had been on in the cell, and it was so dark he could wave his hand in front of his face and not see it.

How much water had he had since he last saw the Constant? They had been careful to ensure to give him water once in a while ever since the time he collapsed from dehydration and required IV fluids. The water always came in a bottle. He always drank it despite it sometimes having something more than water inside. Hallucinogens, laxatives, and he was confident a few insistences valium or Quaaludes were sometimes inside the water. The hallucinogens and valium/Quaaludes seem to be tasteless, but the laxative always had a chalky taste on top of the coppery taste of the water he drank. He knew when he tasted the chalk that it was not going to be a pleasant night. He once tried to refuse to drink the water. Boy had that been a mistake, the Constant came. He and his mutes held Red down, securing him in a straightjacket then pinning him to the ground. They forced him to drink multiple bottles of water before leaving him to suffer restrained the straight jacket and unable to get up due to an injury to one of his legs.

At that memory, he dragged his knees up to his chest minding his aching torso, he rested his head on his knees and gently rocked himself. Somehow this always brought comfort to him, at least as much comfort as he could get in his non-existing state. In these times he always thought of her. He had almost managed to avenge her death. He would have been successful had Kirk gotten out of that car. Donald had lowered his gun and was going to allow him to shoot the man. But Kirk had not shown, unexpectedly. It was after that Donald had arrested him, stating it was his orders. When Dembe went to stop the arrest, Red had told him to let it happen. Red had arrogantly assumed he would be taken into the task force holding cell. It was nothing, he would get out of it quickly with his deal in place and the fact he had the Cabal on his side now. That was not the case. He had gone back to the task force holding cell, but he only spent ten minutes inside. Donald and Harold both apologized but told him the orders had come down from the new director of clandestine services, as well as the Attorney General who had not outright said she was working under presidential orders. There was nothing they could do.

He should have suspected something was coming. The Cabal were not happy when he went after Scottie. He had lost sight of the bigger picture in his narrow focus to get vengeance for Lizzie's death. The big picture would have altered him to the possibility that the Cabal would not be overjoyed with his taking Kirk down. The big picture, pre-Lizzie, would never have allowed himself to become so attached to her. The big picture, stealing the oil (from someone who worked with the Cabal) then framing another Cabal associate was too much for them. Never mind he had blackmailed a presidential candidate, who was running with the blessing of the current sitting president. Once again he had pitted himself against the Cabal, and this time, he did not have the leverage he had before. This time, they could take him out, and they were, slowly. They were extracting every last bit of revenge they could and they had already gained useful information for their trouble.

The men who came to take him from the post office drugged him. He struggled the best he could, but they managed to jab him with a needle that the substance inside rendered him unconscious within minutes of it entering his bloodstream. The next time he regained consciousness, he faked sleep to try to get some awareness of his surroundings. It did not last long, they somehow knew he was awake or they just did not care and injected him again. Ultimately, all he had garnered from that experience was he was likely on a plane. When he was finally allowed to regain consciousness he was inside his cement box that had been his home ever since. He has not seen the sun since entering this room, and he doubted he would ever see the sun again. Though, on the positive, he was allowed to leave this room on a few occasions. The proper shower was at the end of the hall, and on a few occasions, he had been allowed a proper shower.

Then there were the times that he required serious medical attention. However long ago, they had beaten him to a pulp. One of the Constants punches sent bone fragments from his ribs into his lungs. Once the Constant realized what had happened, he forced Raymond to sit with his hands behind his back, making breathing even more difficult. The Constant sat across from him and watched Red struggle to breathe. Watched as he slowly started to drown in his own blood filling his lung. It was only after the world started to gray at the edges and unconsciousness was approaching quickly that the Constant had him taken to the medical room. His lung was repaired, and he was back in his cell before he even woke up from the anesthesia.

They kept him in the middle of the cell, using rings on either side to keep his arms secured so he could not harm himself. The pain was beyond excruciating at times. Normally, with the surgery he would be allowed pain killers, but not here. Here they made him suffer through it. The cold cement under him had not helped. Due to his immobility, he ended up developing pneumonia. He was sure that would kill him, but they treated it in time. Once he had recovered enough, they started to force him to walk around the cell, to get him mobile. A kind doctor lady would come visit him and work with him on breathing exercise while his lungs recovered from both the injury and pneumonia. He liked the doctor, he was not allowed to speak to her, that had been a painful lesson to learn. She had kind eyes and clearly was disturbed by the treatment. The look in her eyes when they punished him for speaking to her had been one of pure horror. It was just an electric jolt, something that was so much a part of everyday life he had come to expect it. She had been kind to him those few times she was allowed to come to his cell to provide medical care. That was a long time ago because all that was left were the scars and the memories.

The large fluorescent lights came on, ripping him from his memories. He pulled his knees closers to his chest, ignoring the pain. More pain was coming, he knew it, with the lights turning on. His eyes burned against the lights, but he could not stop himself from staring at the door. His heart raced feeling like it was going to pound right out of his chest or maybe exploded (that would be nice, he thought bitterly) as he anticipated the door opening. His eyes were watering against the pain from the light when the door finally did open. He pushed back against the wall, in the corner of his cell he was sure at least his back and sides were protected.

The Constant towered over him, appearing to be so large he took the entire doorway up, but in reality the man was not much bigger than Reddington himself. "Stand up."

Red's body was shaking, but it had gone unnoticed by Red. The constant had noticed the shaking a long time ago, it started right before he broke former FBI most wanted. They always broke eventually. Everyone did, and he was the best at breaking people. He watched in delight as the man who was clearly terrified struggled to get to his feet. He knew Red was weak from lack of food and water. They had instituted the bare minimum rations and had kept him on them for over three months now.

On one occasion, when the Constant was feeling particularly cruel, he had allowed Red a large meal made up of extremely rich foods after starving him for six days. Like most starving people, Red had consumed the entire meal quickly. That had led to an entertaining hour of watching the man violently vomit up the too rich food he had been given. They led that with a bottle of laxative water. That had backfired on them because the prisoner ended up with the start of kidney failure and cardiac arrhythmia that had to be corrected with electric shocks and a round of fluids that included potassium and electrolytes to correct the imbalance. The doctor assured the Constant that it was not the mixture of vomiting and diarrhea, but the prolonged state the prisoners body had been in the caused these "side effects" she had called them.

When Red was on his feet, he kept himself pushed back into the corner.

"Walk to the middle of the cell prisoner."

Red obeyed moving to the center of the room. The shaking he now noticed as it increased in severity. His heart was pounding so fast he could hear the blood rushing through his body. His breaths were short and sharp, bringing him closer to hyperventilation. He had hyperventilated on a few occasions, his own mind his enemy. The anxiety attacks had sent his world spending, it was how he got the nice bump on his head. The last one when he crashed to the ground, he did not stop his head from bouncing off the cement. The Constant had just watched until Red passed out, and eventually, his breathing evened out.

The Constant walked up to him, Red kept his arms at his side, and did not look at the man. Never look the man in the eyes, that lesson was one he struggled against for however long. Eventually, the Constant won the battle.

"You have a visitor." The Constant spoke his arms resting on Red's shoulders. "I thought it would be nice if you showered first since you smell so bad."

Red was still with the Constant behind him, hands on his shoulders.

"You want to look nice for your guest. Correct."

Red was not sure if he was supposed to answer, so he shook his head.

"What is that? I cannot hear your head shake."

If he had finished that sentence with boy, Red would have sworn the Constant had become his father from all those years ago.

"Yes sir." The sir had been something his father taught him and it naturally slipped out anytime the Constant reminded him of that asshole.

"So polite today. Maybe we should keep you in the dark more often." The Constant teased his hands moving from Red's shoulders to give him a little shove. "Well, we don't got all day get moving."

Red almost fell to the floor, and would have had one of the guards not grabbed him. He had been fighting off a spell of dizziness ever since he stood up. The push did not help.

"Careful there. Don't want to cause yourself too much damage before you see your guest." The Constant warned following behind Red.

Red followed the guards, keeping his head down watching his feet move one in front of the other. When they reached the shower, the guards turned it on from somewhere. They had the ability to control the temperature and often switched between freezing cold to scolding hot. A bar of soap sat in the middle of the shower. It was Irish Spring soap, always Irish Spring soap. It was as if they had inside information about how much he had hated the smell of that soap.

"Strip." The Constant ordered when Red just stood there staring down at the soap.

Red removed his clothes looking to the Constant for what to do next.

"Take them from him." The Constant told one of the guards who slipped on a pair of plastic gloves before taking the jumpsuit from Red. "We will burn it. Don't think we can salvage it from the smell."

Red turned red in shame because it was true. He smelled horrible. The cell had shifted from stifling hot to freezing cold, and back again. He would sweat and then freeze. The last "shower" he had was them spraying him with a pressure hose. That had been the last water they had allowed him too.

"Hurry up we don't got all day. Your guest is waiting."

Red quickly moved under the water bending over to grab the soap. He washed quickly enjoyed the feeling of the cold water against his skin. Of course, he would have preferred a warm shower, but any shower at this point was a good thing. He drank the water that fell into his mouth, casting a glance at the Constant to see if he would be punished. No sound came from the man who stood looking bored while Red quickly washed. The water turned off the second he finished and he was directed to sit on a bench. His hands were secured behind his back. One of the guards used an electric shaver and scissors to cut away the beard that had grown on his face, and to remove any hair on his head. When he finished Red was given the use of one hand to brush his teeth with a toothbrush and toothpaste provided to him by the Constant. A cup of water appeared and he rinsed his mouth, spitting the water back into the cup as he had learned to do before.

His hands were freed and he was given a new jumpsuit. White this time, he wondered how long it would remain white. The jumpsuit was too big on his now smaller body. He had lost weight, he noticed in the harsh light. He was as skinny as he had been when he was in the Navy, though he definitely had more muscle tone back then.

The rattling of chains drew him out of his mind. He looked up to see a guard approaching with a set of shackles. This was something new, and he looked on with curiously as they chained him. Maybe he really did have a guest. It meant they had not forgotten about him, and left him to waste away. It was not like any information he had would be helpful. He was not sure what the motive was for the tortures he had endured. That made enduring them even more difficult because there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them. He had no control over when his pain would end. Did they want bank accounts? He'd give them to him, what he knew, and have what was left of his people (if there were any) give them the rest. Contacts? They likely knew the same people he knew. What else did he have to give them?

The guest, who could it be, he started to wonder when the guards finished chaining his arms to his waist using the chain around his waist that had cuffs attached to it to ensure he could not move his hands much. Maybe it was one of the Cabal members coming to gloat, like after he had first broken. Maybe they came to see his life ended. Maybe this would all be over soon.

The Constant's hand on his elbow alerted him he should be moving now. He walked where the Constant pushed him, his head bowed again. He was watching his feet, taking much shorter steps now that his legs were connected by a small chain. They came to a stop outside of his cell, or at least what he thought of as his cell. Maybe he did not have a visitor after all. He was led inside, where two chairs now sat. He was pushed into one, and his waist chain was attached to the back of the chair, and his feet to each of the front legs of the chair. A small chuckle came from him, he was not right in his head and had not been for awhile.

"What is so funny?" The Constant asked looking down at the bruised and broken prisoner.

"Sorry." Red said trying to control his laughing. It was a losing battle, as his eyes watered again. His head hurt from the harsh light but he still could not force himself to stop laughing.

When the Constant raised his hand Red flinched, earning a chuckle from the Constant. "Seriously what is so funny?"

"I'm sorry." Red answered between laughs.

The Constant saw he was trying to answer, so he did not backhand the prisoner. Instead, he patiently waited for the man to get control of himself. Maybe he had broken the prisoner beyond repair. This prisoner had been his longest ever. Often after he broke them they were shipped off to somewhere else, but this one remained and the orders were to continue inflicting pain.

Red finally got it out, "I'm sorry. It's" he chuckled as he thought of what he was saying, "it's just" another laugh, "you act" more laughter, "like I can" gasping for breath now as he struggles to get oxygen he deprived himself via laughing "be a danger" more gasp for oxygen now looking up at the Constant waiting for punishment and pain, "Or escape."

The Constant laughed himself looking down at the man who was clearly terrified of him. "Or just to remind you of your place." He said tapping Red's face with his hand knowing it would cause some pain from the clear healing bruises that covered his face. They were shades of green and blue, all healing from the last beating.

Red sobered up when the Constants hands touched his face. He flinched unable to stop himself from the reaction. His heart was racing again, the pain in his head intensified.

"Now be a good boy and maybe I'll let you have some food when your guest leaves."

Red was hopeful, food would be nice. His stomach had long since stopped aching from the lack of food. At first, it had been painful, and now the empty feeling seemed normal. Sometimes, he found himself sucking on the sleeve of his jumpsuit, just because he felt like sustenance.

They left him in the cell with those words and he sat looking at the door. His mind wondered as it often did when he was alone. Sometimes he played a game of anywhere but here, but more often than not his mind just shutdown. Blanked out and he was nothing. The monk he had meant during his travels had tried to teach him to reach this stage of a clear mind. It never worked, until now that was. His mind blank, but the tick in his face, or his teeth chewing the side of his cheek, or his hand that nervously twitched. All were nervous tics that happened unconsciously, the hand was one he developed while in his cell.

 


	2. Chapter 2

A voice that could not possibly be alerted him to someone's presence in his cement box. The voice was warm, he felt the warmth wash over him in this cold place. It could not be, his mind had broken finally. He had been close many of times, but somehow he always managed to remain at least somewhat sane. Now he was sure he was insane and hearing voices. The Constant had won, clearly. Closing his eyes, he opened them again, tears running down his face from the light stinging his eyes, there was a blurry ghost standing in his cement box. She was speaking to him, calling him Red. No one had used that name in a long time. He had to remind himself that his name was Raymond Reddington, that he was alive, he was not the cat. He had mumbled those words to himself many of a nights holding onto himself as much as he could. Someone in the room was gasping for oxygen, he heard it as the world started to spin around him.

"What is wrong with him?" The ghost called out to someone.

The Constant appeared next to her. As the world continued to spin around him, Red could not help but think, thank god she's gone. The Constant would hurt her to get to him. It was his worse fear when she was alive. Someone would find out how much she meant, and they would use that to their advantage. She was his weakness; she had called it within a short period of knowing him. How much it bothered him that he needed her in his life, that he was not brave or strong enough to walk away like her mother had or her grandfather. That he needed her light in life, to light the dark waters. He could feel her warmth on his grotesque face and he yearned to bath in it one more time. To feel the warmth of the hideous being that he was, though he did not deserve it. He deserved the cement box. That was how this place had become acceptable to him, it was his punishment for being so selfish. It was his just deserts for having a part in extinguishing a beautiful light, taking her away from her daughter. Everything the Constant did, felt like a deserved punishment for just that one transgression, for not saving her.

His chest ached, was he having a heart attack? He had feared it a few times, with the shocks, the pain, the burning, it seemed a strong possibility. He was dying, Raymond felt it with every fiber of his body. His heart was finally giving out, his chest ached with a deep pain. This was the end, finally. He had finally paid enough.

"He's hyperventilating. We need the doctor down here ASAP." The man Raymond called the Constant ordered to one of the guards waiting outside the cell.

A few smacks to the face did not bring Ray out of his state, the Constant was forcing his head up by holding his chin to ensure the airway was as open as it could get. He listened at the approaching sound of feet pounding against the cement. Echoing in the hallway.

The doctor arrived with a syringe. She quickly jabbed the prisoner in the neck pushing the benzodiazepine into the man's body. Grabbing his wrist, she felt his pulse, she could tell just from the pulse that the man's blood pressure was too high. When his head slumped to his chest, she quickly reacted, grabbing a flashlight out of her coat pocket she checked his pupils. They reacted. She checked the pulse in his neck and kept her fingers there while she looked at her watch. Kept a mental count of heartbeats. Relief overcame her as she noticed them slowing.

"What happened?" The Constant asked standing over the doctor who was kneeling next to the prisoner.

"I believe he had an anxiety attack." The doctor responded, "He was hyperventilating. I gave him something to calm him down."

"How long will he be unconscious?"

"I do not know." The doctor said checking his pulse again, it had slowed significantly. His body was relaxed in the chains.

"Was this the first time?" The woman in the hallway asked standing back shocked at the sight before her eyes. She had been surprised when the door opened to the cell. It was not like the last time she had come to see him in a cell. The man she had known was barely recognizable. He had lost a lot of weight. He was frail and the bruises were the most colorful thing on him. His skin was extremely pale as if he had not seen the sun for months. She realized that he probably had not living in the underground prison.

"Yes." The Constant answered though not truthfully. The prisoner had anxiety attacks before, but never this severe. They had taken to treating them with valium in water.

"Why is he chained?" She asked, "I doubt he is a danger to anyone."

"Protocol." The Constant answered his voice dry with boredom.

"Can you unchain him now he's unconscious." She asked looking inside as the doctor continued to check over Red.

"Not if you plan on talking to him."

"Doctor, I know you cannot tell me an exact amount of time that he will be unconscious, but can you give me an approximation?" The woman outside the cell asked.

"Probably only about twenty minutes. I did not give him a large dose. Just enough to calm him down. He likely just passed out due to exhaustion." The doctor answered checking the man's pupil response again just to assure herself he was ok, or as ok as he could be inside this place. Unlike the other prisoners, this one had never made crude comments or even looked at her in a crude manner. He seemed to always respect her and look at her like a person and not an object to masturbate to later. There had always been a broken look about him too. She had thought of him more often than she should have in her off time from the prison. He always looked like he thought he deserved what they did to him. With a little lucky and research, she was able to find out his name was Raymond Reddington, and that he was not a great man, but no one deserved this. Some might wonder, and she often did, that if she believed this why did she continue her work as a doctor for this prison. It paid well, and she always felt removed from the prisoners. The men and few women she saw were always prisoners, not human beings. However, there was something about this one. His eyes, and the way even without words she always felt like she had his undivided attention when she was in a room with him.

"Is there a phone I can use to call my superiors?" The woman asked looking at the Constant.

"Follow me." The Constant said already disliking the guest. He knew she had some important people backing her given that she was able to get into this prison and visit this prisoner. Most of his prisoners never saw anyone but himself and never spoke to anyone but himself. Orders came in last week from someone higher up that there would be a visitor who could speak with the prisoner in private, and the prisoner was allowed to speak with her. He was to be made ready for her visitation, which meant he was not to be tortured or injured in any way that may prevent him from speaking freely. The guest and the prisoner were to be left alone and not monitored.

He dropped her by his office and told her he would wait down the hallway in the staff lounge. The staff lounge was nothing more than a locker room with a table and a fridge. They often played cards here during their night shifts. There was a bank of monitors that showed each of the cells. The prison currently housed ten prisoners, all males, and all here under the patriot act or what was left of it. They were considered enemy combatants and not afforded any rights. Three of the ten were American citizens, two were Arabs, two Russians, one German, one North Korean, and one Englishman. Many prisoners only stayed in the prison long enough for them to be broken. The Constant took charge on the harder cases, as he was the best at breaking men. This usually meant he had three to four cases at a time. Raymond Reddington had been his longest-running case, and he was sure he had broken the man on a few occasions. The prisoner always seemed to rally somehow and come back to himself. The Constant, who's actual name was Douglass, was told it did not matter how broken Raymond Reddington was, he would live the rest of his days out in that cell.

Back in his office, the woman was on the phone, he did not have sound, but he was able to watch her via the camera in his office. Only he had access, being the ranking officer here, he used his passcode to view what was occurring in his office. He had no sound, but he could watch her. He kept watch on the monitor she was on, and the one of Reddington's cell.

Back in his office, she spoke to her superiors on the phone, "He is much worse than we expected." She felt the tears well in her eyes, "He had a panic attack when he saw me. He looks horrible."

"You have to get him to help." Agent Cooper spoke in a soothing voice, "We need him to be able to get to the root of these attacks. All of our evidence leads back to someone he was associated with, and we cannot find anything on that person."

Cooper knew Agent Keen knew all of this, but he needed to reminder her that the attacks occurring all over the Western world were organized, and it seemed Raymond Reddington could help prevent further death and destruction.

"I know." She said wiping away the tears. "I just don't know how we are going to convince him to help us. After what they've done. Even if we can convince him I'm not sure he's still there. You haven't seen him."

"Agent Keen, he will help if you asked him." Agent Cooper responded, feeling in his heart this was all wrong. Raymond Reddington was a criminal, but he had heard rumors about the blacksite he had been imprisoned at for the past two years. Cooper had felt anger when the powers that be finally gave him the location, after exhausting all other possibilities. This included bringing Dembe and many of Reddington's people in, but the person in question was someone from Reddington's early days on the run from the US government, and none of his people knew of the person or Red's connection to them. All of the evidence of the timeline as to when the people entered Red's life, and this man matched, and that was why the powers that be finally caved in and gave Cooper Reddington's location.

After the task force, with Dembe's and Kate Kaplan's help, finally tracked down Agent Keen and saved her from her father (who managed to escape during the gun battle at ensued while freeing Agent Keen), Agent Keen had returned to work. Tom Keen disappeared from her life, at least for the most part. He appeared occasionally, usually around Agnes birthday. Agnes was two now and the task force was her family. She called Cooper grandpa, and she had Uncle Don and Aram who she called Am. Her Aunt Sa was her favorite, Samar had taken to the little girl much to everyone's surprise. Even Dembe pitched in when he was in the US, which was more often these days.

He could only imagine what Raymond looked like, and by the tears in Agent Keen's voice, he knew it had to be worse than he could even imagine. Reddington did not deserve this. Cooper had tried to find him after the men took him away, but Reddington's location was a well-hidden secret. Even his own people could not find the place. Cooper and even eventually Donald had helped Dembe search for Reddington's location after he disappeared from the post office.

It was cruel to ask Elizabeth Keen to go to that prison and speak with Reddington. Everyone knew that if Reddington would talk, it would be to Elizabeth Keen. Donald had thought that if anyone asked and told Reddington what was occurring in the world outside of that prison, he likely would have given them the information. But no one had taken his suggestion seriously. Instead, he had been ordered to send Elizabeth Keen to that prison.

"I cannot just leave him here." Lizzie said looking at the wooden desk.

"I do not know if you will have a choice." Cooper answered wondering how long before they moved Reddington after this visit.

"What if he will not give me the information until he is freed?"

"They may just torture him for the answers."

"Harold they are already torturing him. He is so pale and small." Elizabeth blinked against the image of Reddington sitting chained to the chair. She felt the guilt start eating at her, it was her fault he was here. She faked her death, and he had gone to extreme to avenge her fake death. He had allowed himself to piss off powerful people just to avenge her fake death. "We can't leave him here."

Harold sighed into the phone, "I will see what I can do."

"Maybe you should call Uncle Debe. You know he is watching Agnes for me while I'm away at my field training. And I really would like to know how she is. I miss her. Maybe when I call back later Uncle Debe and Am can have Agnes in your office so I can talk to her." She hoped Harold understood what she was saying.

"I am sure we can make that happen." Harold responded not knowing what Agent Keen was up to but even if he told Dembe the real reason why she was gone, they still had no idea where she was. It was highly likely the minute she left that prison, wherever it was, they would move Reddington to another blacksite. They had got to great pains to ensure he was untraceable, and there were more unknown blacksites that were just rumors out in the world. A simple transfer for a few unknown prisoners to these sites would cover up any tracks of Reddington.

"Thank you. Please do your best to convince the Attorney General that Reddington can be more of an asset if used properly."

"Thank you for the update Agent Keen."

"I will call later tonight sir when I've spoken with Reddington." She hung the phone up and knew she was being watched because within only a short period after hanging up the phone the guard showed up at the door.

"The prisoner is starting to wake up."

"Let's go see him." Elizabeth said hoping he was not able to listen into the conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the delay. We had to fly out of town for a family emergency and it was impossible to write with Sara's nieces and nephews around all the time. TO make up for it we are posting a LONG update 16 typed pages). Enjoy!

When Lizzie returned to the cell she hung back to make sure that the doctor was finished with Reddington. The doctor was speaking in a kind voice to Reddington, explaining that she was giving him a bit more valium to help keep him calm. That he had an anxiety attack, and she was sure it probably felt like he was dying, but he was not. Elizabeth listened for Red's voice, but she never heard it. He never spoke to the doctor. Finally, the doctor stood up and looked out at Elizabeth.

"He may zone out from time to time. He has taken to doing that and the valium I gave him probably will encourage it. I find that just touching his arm usually brings him back."

"Thank you doctor." Elizabeth said smiling kindly at her. "Do you mind waiting a few seconds just to make sure he does not have another negative reaction to seeing me."

"Of course." The doctor said moving towards the back of the cell. It really was a smaller cell. All that was in the cell besides the chairs that had been placed inside was a hole in the floor, Lizzie assumed it was a toilet. It could fit four men because of the emptiness, but with the chairs in the center there was less room for people.

Elizabeth walked inside watching Reddington who seemed to strain against the light looking up at her. His eyes were half open and he was mumbling something to himself that she did not understand. "What is that you are saying Red? I cannot hear you." She asked moving closer to him.

Red continued to mumble to himself while he bit the inside of his cheek. His fingers were drumming on his outer thigh as he twitched in his seat. Lizzie got closer to him to try to understand him.

"She not real." He kept mumbling over and over to himself rocking in his chair, though he did not move too far because the chains kept him locked tight to the chair, and his voice was barely above a whisper.

Lizzie felt tears well in her eyes because of his distress. She reached out and gently touched his face. Red flinched violently away from her and started to mumble faster to himself.

"Red it's me. I'm not dead." She said kneeling next to him. "Hey look at me." She said softly but he did not make eye contact.

Red looked over her shoulder at the doctor the other kind face in the room. The one he knew was not a hallucination and he spoke louder and louder, "She not real. Lizzie dead."

The Constant was in the doorway, "She's real." He said to the prisoner, "I see her."

Lizzie touched his arm, "Red I'm real."

Red screamed in her face, "She's not real." He kept screaming loudly his voice straining from disuse.

Lizzie kneeled in front of him, grabbing his knees trying to make eye contact with Red, who was avoiding looking at her, "I'm real Red."

His eyes were back to the doctor, and she spoke to him, "Raymond she is real. Alive as you or I."

Red turned his bloodshot eyes to Lizzie, "She's not real Lizzie's dead." He spoke but his voice was strained from the yelling and disuse. It had none of the comforting quality to it.

The Constant walked in the cell ready to strike Red, but Lizzie stood blocking his path preventing him from smacking the chained main.

"Give me a minute." She said angrily at the guard, "Red. It's me." She reached out and touched his fingers that were still tapping away on his outer thigh.

Red felt her warm hand. It was soft and warm. Like real living flesh. Much warmer than the last time he had touched fingers on a woman who looked similar to the one in front of him. But it could not be Lizzie, she was dead. His rational mind, the part of him that had hid deep inside away from the pain and torment, told him they must have given him some hell of a hallucinogen this time. She never was able to touch him before. Looking at her, and seeing the light in her eyes, even through her tears, he decided to embrace the hallucination. How often did he get light and warmth in this place? Usually, she came to him with angry words, telling him how he had killed her. How he had failed to avenge her death. This nice hallucination, even if it was false, it would be nice for a while. Just to feel warmth again in this dark hole that was his home.

"I am real Red." She said noting that he seemed to calm with her touch. She felt him calming, as his fingers tried to grip her hand to hold it. After a minute of just staring into her eyes, she broke contact from him. "I think he is fine. You call can leave now." She said turning to the guard and the doctor.

The doctor left the room glancing back, hoping that the woman would bring Raymond some comfort during her visit. She seemed to be doing it now.

The guard did not budge though.

"I have it from here. The prisoner has calmed." Liz saw in the periphery of her vision Red flinched when she said prisoner. When the guard still did not leave, Lizzie spoke again, "I was told I would get to question him alone. Those are the best conditions to get him to willingly cooperate."

"I will have to lock you in with the prisoner. Protocol."

"That is fine. Make sure you turn off your surveillance equipment as well." She said, "The information I am asking him about is classified by the Presidential himself." Elizabeth did not know if that was true or not, but it seemed like a good enough threat to ensure her conversation with Red was not being watched.

"Yes Ma'am. Just knock on the cell door when you want out." As an afterthought the guard spoke, "The cell is sound proof, therefore, if you need help you will need to alert them somehow." Douglass did not think he was giving anything away the prisoner had not already figured out. The prisoner had asked him a few times while the prisoner still felt like the prisoner could speak freely.

Once the door was shut Elizabeth returned to Reddington.

She touched his face gently, feeling the bumps and fresh scars on it. "I'm real." She said wondering if he believed it. His eyes told her he probably did not believe her. They had that same look he got when he knew she was lying, an intensity that seemed to stare right down into her soul. "You once fixed a music box for me. My daughter's name is Agnes. I was married to Tom Keen who was not actually Tom Keen. He was an operative you hired to watch over me, and Berlin turned him. I once stabbed you in the neck with a pen, that is what this scar is from." She touched his neck where the white circular scar was noting that he did not violently flinch away from her touch this time.

Red seemed to start to believe her as his face turned into one of confusion.

"You killed the Stewmaker. You did not have to. But you did. You injected him with some drug, and pushed him into a vat of acid that was meant for me. You spoke of a farmer that day. You told me about an Eastern European version of the tango while we watched it. You where the friend my father Sam spoke of. You dropped me off to him when I was younger and asked him to watch over me." That she knew no one but her and Reddington knew, and it seemed to do the trick.

But Red still did not speak to her. He just looked at her his face a wash of emotions. The strongest were confusion and anger.

"Do you believe I'm real?" She asked, but when Red did not respond she was not sure what to do.

"Can you hear me?" She asked after a minute of silence. Red was no longer looking at her but down at the floor.

"Red please, talk to me." She said moving to sit in front of him again trying to get him to look at her, "Or at least look at me."

Red started to play imaginary music on his thigh again, his eye twitching. He wanted to speak, wanted to ask her how and why and so much more, but the Constant had taught him not to speak. The Constant was not here, but he would be punished eventually for speaking. He had already spoken without permission, screamed even, and that would mean pain. His reaction to seeing Lizzie would probably bring more pain too. Either way, he already had enough misery in his life, and more was coming his way for his actions today. The food the Constant had promised for good behavior was probably already lost due to his reactions. He was really looking forward to the food, even if it was bland overcook rice or the gummy oatmeal without flavor. Hell he'd even be happy to eat the uncooked rice and oat meal if it mean he got some food.

When Red continued to refuse to answer her or look at her, Lizzie realize she had no choice. Knocking on the door a guard opened it seconds later.

"Done already?"

"No." Lizzie said, "I need to speak to your boss."

The guard grabbed his radio from his belt, "Sir our guest would like to speak with you at the prisoner's cell."

"I'll be there in a minute." The radio chirped back.

Red became more nervous at the sound of the Constants voice. The Constant sounded annoyed and that never bode well for him. The light from outside was causing his eyes to water more, and his head hurt too. The Valium was keeping him calm, but it did not seem to take the pain away. He felt like he was floating on a dense cloud. His thoughts floated on the cloud too. Lizzie was alive, she faked her death? Or had he dreamed all of that? No, he watched her die. He held her hand, kissed her knuckles, and stood back while Tom Keen kept Agnes from him. That had been real. But Lizzie was alive. Why did she lie to him?

When the Constant's shoes appeared in Red's line of vision he tensed, his body shaking uncontrollably, causing the chains to make a slight clinking noise.

"What did you need Agent Keen?" The Constant asked clearly annoyed with her. She was interfering with his rapport with the prisoner. He had already questioned the prisoner about the very thing the Agent was here for. His superiors had fought her entrance into the facility, her background with prisoner could damage the control he had over the prisoner. He had the prisoner under control and willing to provide information. For some reason the people way above his pay grade and his bosses believed this woman could get more out of the prisoner.

"He does not seem to be able to speak."

"The prisoner can speak." Red heard the Constant say. "Prisoner say hello to your guest."

Red spoke quickly, hoping his good behavior would bring mercy later, doubting it would, but it never hurt to try, "Hello." His voice was strained from screaming and just loud enough to be heard.

"See he can speak." The Constant said.

Liz hated to ask, having heard and seen Red's reaction to this man, but it was a matter of national security and people's lives, innocent people's lives. "Can you tell him to speak to me."

"Answer her questions honestly." The Constant said glaring down at Reddington.

"Yes sir." Red spoke his voice cracked at the sir.

"Can we get some water." Liz requested noting the strain in Red's voice.

"Master Sgt go get two bottle of water."

The other guard rushed away at the order.

The Constant stood in the doorway glaring at Reddington waiting for the water to return. Lizzie did not speak but watched the dynamic between the two men. Red was clearly terrified of the guard, who she assumed was a high ranking official in the prison. This was the man who had given her the run around hours before, not allowing her to see Reddington right away. He had made her wait upstairs in a locked office for hours before finally permitting her a chance to see Red. He clearly was the man in charge of interrogating Reddington, at least the word they used was interrogate in her briefing, but by the look of Red it was pure torture. By Red's actions, she concluded that the torture was now just for the sake of torture. The guard standing next to her was clearly as sadist and enjoyed his job. He enjoyed the power he had over Red. She could see it in his eyes, the thrill he got from seeing Red terrified and shaking at the mere sound of his voice. Lizzies could not imagine what the man had done to Red to get him to be this scared and this broken. She had heard stories about Red's many adventures, including times he was tortured, and never did he seem to be this broken by it. Guilt consumed her as she started to wonder just how broken he was, and sorrow filled her when she realized that she may not be able to save Red from this hell.

When the younger guard returned with the water, they were handed to Lizzie. She looked at the guard in charge and asked, "Is there any way you can remove the hand cuffs on one of his hands so he can drink the water himself."

"No. Protocol." The Constant said, "I would be happy to help him for you."

"That won't be necessary." She said grabbing the water and returning to Reddington. She turned as she heard the door close, feeling claustrophobic inside of the little cell that smelled of disinfectant, sweat, and blood.

Removing the cap from one water, she spoke to Red, "Do you want some water?"

Red's eyes searched back and forth, he was contemplating the probability that the water was laced with something else.

Lizzie realized Red was reluctant, and it only took her mind a few seconds to conclude he was afraid to drink the water because this was likely one of the many ways they tortured him. Humans needed water and food to survive. By the looks of Red, food was spares, but he would require water. If they hid drugs in his food, he could refuse to eat it, but the water, she knew was the best method. His body would give out eventually and he would require water long before food, so by drugging the water they ensured that he would drink whatever drugs they wanted to give him. Given the fact he thought he was hallucinating her when she first entered the cell told her they likely had drugged him many of times.

With all of this in mind she spoke in a gentle voice to him, "They think one of these is for me. So I doubt they drugged it. I made sure that they knew my superior would be looking for me later if I did not check in."

She gently held the bottle to his cracked swollen split lip. She slowly poured the water into his mouth, watching to make sure she did not pour too much too fast. After half the bottle was gone, she pulled it back, "More?"

"No." Red said his voice still not as soothing as it was before, but at least he could speak, though he had to pause between some every few words. "I don't …want to get… sick."

"Ok." Elizabeth said taking her seat feeling her stomach in the back of her throat. She had been responsible for his condition. She may not have arrested him and tortured him, but she was still responsible for all of it. She had set into motion his downfall, by faking her death and keeping him in the dark and by allowing Tom Keen in her life again. Dembe had spoken with her about the time after her fake death. How torn Raymond had been over he death. She honestly expected him to be upset, but from what Dembe told her it went past upset. Devastated was not a strong enough word, and Dembe was not sure there had been a word to describe it. Red had sought vengeance, not caring for the cost of his actions. Tom had egged him on, knowing that Liz was alive and well. Tom had pushed Red because he wanted his daughter to be safe, at least that was what Tom said when Liz questioned him. While she suspected that was some of Tom's motive, she doubted it was the entire truth.

"How are alive?" He asked studying her through his half open bloodshot eyes. He was exhausted, and he was sure if left alone he would sleep soundly. Because of the darkness he had been in he never knew how much sleep he actually got. Time had no meaning in his cement box.

"After I refused to let you see Agnes, Mr. Kaplan asked me if I wanted to ensure my daughters safety, as well as, my own. I told her of course. She told me she could fake my death. That she would ensure that Tom got to keep Agnes and when the time was right he would come to me. But you could not know. She was not sure if you could or would stay away." She saw his face crumple, the man who often could hide his emotions seemed to be an open book in that moment, "I had just given birth and my protective instincts kicked in. I was sure you were not safe. I wanted to protect my daughter. I had to protect her. So I agreed."

Tears welled in Red's bloodshot eyes as he listened to the story. Betrayal and rage filled him and he wanted to react on it. But he had been taught not to in this place. This was just more torture, but at the hand of those he loved and not the Constant.

"I did not know what you were doing. Tom did not tell me you were avenging my death, and that he was encouraging you. He wanted to track down the people who threatened his daughter and wife's life. He thought it was justified to allow you to go to extremes to ensure those people died. He said you owed it to me." Elizabeth was not defending her ex, she was just telling Red what Tom had told her. She doubted speaking about her own conclusions regarding Tom's motives would help this situation, so she only spoke of the words Tom used to justify his actions. "I did not know they would do this" She said softly, "I thought you would be fine, after I left."

Red snorted at her, he felt anger at that statement. After all of this time she still did not know how much he cared for her. Anger was dangerous in here, how many times had he learned that lesson. Too many painful times, so he stifled the emotion. He did not want to piss off Lizzie because she was here now, and as long as she was here he was safe from the pain. When she left he knew the pain would come back. He would be made to pay for acting up around visitors, and he was sure a worse hell awaited him. So he wanted to keep her here as long as possible.

Elizabeth readied herself for the anger she knew he deserved to feel. She had even seen a flash of it in Red's eyes, but his wrath never came. His eyes only told her of his exhaustion and pain, and since she could see the pain, she knew it had to be bad. Red had always been very good at hiding his pain.

When Red did not speak again, she started telling him more of what had happened. "My father grabbed us when we got to Cuba. He tracked Tom's phone there. Dembe, Baz and his team, along with Ressler were able to free Tom, Agnes, and myself. My father got away though. He got what he wanted, I think, so he should stay gone." Elizabeth had been lying to herself about that ever since she returned back to the taskforce. All he wanted was some bone marrow, hers was a match, and she had given to him. After she realized the lengths he went to, she told him if he had just asked, she would have willingly given him what he needed. She was not a monster after all. He was, she had learned quickly. She had always called Red a monster, but her father gave a new meaning to the world.

"When I got back, they told me that you had been taken. We tried to track you down. Cooper and Ressler both spoke with the Attorney General, and Cooper even once spoke with the President about re-instating your deal because it was a win win for all. They refused. They refused to tell us if you were even still alive or if they had you." Elizabeth paused watching Red for any sign, but there was nothing. He was shaking slightly, but she assumed it was the cold room. He no longer was trying to hold her hand.

"And now?" He asked softly not sure he wanted to know why she was here.

"There have been attacks in Germany, France, the UK, and Russia." Elizabeth said.

"In case you are unsure of what they do here, I have been out of the loop of world events" there was a bit of his anger coming through but he could not stifle the rage inside. The rage was bursting to get out. Kate had betrayed him, and was Dembe part of it? Did he know that Lizzie was not dead? Somehow the rage gave him the strength to talk without pause, and to ignore the nagging pain, "I am sure all of my previous contacts have moved on and would not answer to any of my inquiries. Dembe could do it for you. Is he alive?"

"Yes Dembe is alive and well. He and his girlfriend are watching Agnes for me." Elizabeth said hoping that telling Reddington about his friend might help smooth over the anger. While he had every right to be angry, she needed him to cooperate for her and his sake. She noticed he was trembling again and it was not just because of the cold.

"He would be more help." Red said.

"None of your people claim to know him." Lizzie watched him as he seemed to start to shiver more, his fingers drumming again and now there was the familiar twitch of his cheek. "He seems to be someone you knew before anyone in your current circle came into contact with you. He was from when you first went on the run."

"Who?" Red asked swallowing despite the pain in his throat.

"Veor Ninel" Elizabeth said the name and Red flinched again.

"I already told him I do not know what became of Veor. It was not his real name." Red was shaking uncontrollably now staring at the door. He was waiting for the door to open and the pain to start again. Maybe this was a well-planned scheme. They brought someone in that looked like Elizabeth, and knew what Elizabeth knew, just to get him to talk. But he had nothing else to say. He had not spoken with Veor since the mid-90's. He had no idea what became of the man.

"What do you mean it's not his real name?"

"I already told him. It's a play on words. Veor is the Great October Revolution. And Ninel is Lenin backward. Basic history tells you that Veor Ninel is unlikely a real name. Lenin help orchestrate the October Revolution. The American textbook's call it Bolshevik Revolution."

"How did you know Veor?"

"I meant him while I was working in Naval Intelligence. He was working with the KGB. He worked as an operative against the US. We did not actually talk until after the fall of the Soviet Union. I already told him this."

"Who is him Red?" Lizzie asked confused as to who Red kept referring. She wanted to make sure Red was sane, at the very least so she could trust the information he gave her. If he was talking to people who did not exist, cause at this point she assumed him was Veor, then Red would not be much help.

"The Constant."

"Who is the Constant Red?" She asked seeing that he was becoming distressed and given what he had said she started to wonder about his sanity.

"The guard." Red answered struggling to breathe.

"Calm down Red." She said reaching out slowly touching his arm, but he tried to jerk away, only hurting himself in the process. His cuffs were already biting into the skin on his wrist. "Calm down Red." She moved her hand gently towards his face, "I'm not going to hurt you. Just look me in the eyes and breathe with me." She soothed him, much like she would Agnes when she started to cry. When he started to calm down she asked, "Do you want some more water?"

"Yes please." He said allowing her to pour more of the cold water into his mouth. It was refreshing. If he got cold water it usually came from a shower or a pressure hose being sprayed at him. If they gave him water in a bottle, it was always warm.

"So they asked you about Veor already?" Elizabeth asked just to ensure she had Red back.

"Yes. I told them everything I know about him." Red had too, he had willing told them to prevent any more torment. His reward had been a beating, followed by a pressure washer shower followed by a beating, followed by electric shock session that had left his cell smelling of his burnt flesh. His chest, legs, and genitals were all fair game during this session. He had remained naked and cold for days in the darkness before they came back and gave him clothes to put on. He had gotten sick again, but this time it was just the flu. That had been two feedings and 10 waters ago. By his basic knowledge, he assumed it was likely 25 days. One bottle of water every two days, with some gaps of time being up to three days. There had been a few occasions he was so dehydrated that he no longer was thirsty for water and he no longer produced urine or sweat. At best he was probably fed every 10 days or so. It was impossible to tell though, as time had no meaning in the dark of his cell.

"Can you tell me what else you know about Veor? Even if you have told the guard." Elizabeth said softly taking her seat once Red indicated he wanted no more water by closing his mouth.

"He and I did not actually talk until after the fall of the Soviet Union. I knew of him because he killed two of the scientist I had convinced to defect to the US. But he said we should bury the hatchet, and so we did. We became close while I was staying in a small Chinese village recovering from a wound I sustained while leaving the US." In fact that wound was received saving the woman sitting before him, it had also spurred him to the opium den that Veor had meant him in to take the pain away of the healing burn. China had been the safest place for him at the time because the US and Chinese relations were poor, and he knew Russian well enough to pass off as a Russian. Hiding in China allowed him time to recover from his wounds, figure out what he could do with his life on the run from the Cabal, and maybe come up with a plan to figure out what happened to his family.

"Ok. What do you remember about him?"

"He once told me the KGB raised him to be the perfect intelligence officer. He said his parents died and he never knew them. A KGB agent raised him. He was deadly. He believed that Mother Russia would rise again one day to the greatness Lenin had instilled in the nation."

"So he was a true believer in the Soviet Union?"

"Yes."

"Would he ever plan an attack on Russian soil?"

"I don't know." Red answered honestly, "he loved his country. Hated to live in exile he thought everywhere other than Russia was a cesspool."

"Why was he in exile?"

"He had killed some of families of the people who took power after the fall of the Soviet Union's, and he had killed quite a few American operatives. Either side wanted him dead or imprisoned." Red answered his shaking had seemed to calm down some now.

"Besides the obviousness of the name, how do you know it's fake?"

"I helped him get the paperwork for his new name." Red answered, "He was one of my first clients."

"So you know his old name?"

"No. Just his code name, and that would not be much help because few intelligence agencies knew anything about him. The CIA thought he was a myth the Russians made up to scare people."

"How did the name get chosen?"

"He gave it to me."

"Do you think he still goes by it?"

"I don't know." Red answered.

"Why would he come to you for the name change?"

"It was one of the many things I had learned to do while I worked in intelligence."

Elizabeth wanted to ask if Red had done it for her father and mother. Red had not seemed surprised earlier when she mentioned her father was still alive. Had Red always known? Had he let her believe she had killed her father? As she started to question this in her own head, she realized whatever anger she felt did not matter because she had done worse to him. The guilt she felt each time she saw him shaking, and how willingly he cooperated was consuming her and making her anger seem pitiful because any transgression against her by Red, she had more than done worse to him.

"If I wanted to find Veor today, what might I look for?" She asked.

"I do not know." Red answered, "It has been over two decades since I last spoke with him. I have no idea if he is even alive."

"How did he pay you for your services?"

"He helped me find the contacts I needed to sale some information to get money, and he paid me a hefty fee."

"And you have not talked to or seen him since?"

"No. Just for the first year I was on the run. We meant in China because he was the only other white man in the village, then we flew together to my first sale. He provided me with extra security just in case. Later, I had started to build my name, and he departed for other jobs."

"So he worked for you?"

"No more like with me." Red said, "I would never presume to think Veor worked for anyone but his beloved USSR. What he did was just a way to survive."

"IF he loved it so much, why would he help plan an attack?"

"I don't know." Red answered. "If I knew I would tell you Lizzie." He felt the frustration bumbling up because he could tell her questioning was coming to an end. He needed her to stay a bit longer. Allow him this short reprieve from the pain.

"Do you have anything else on Veor?"

"No." Red said, "I've told you and him everything I know."

"Are you sure?" Lizzie asked knowing that any information would help. If he could give her something anything that might lead them to Veor she might be able to convince them to let him out of this place.

"Yes." Red said looking down at the ground. "Why?"

"Why what?" Lizzie asked.

"Why did you fake your death?" Red spoke the hurt he felt inside was not only physical,

"I wanted to ensure Agnes grew up with a normal safe life." Lizzie said, "I was terrified for her."

"I would have helped you disappear with a new name." In fact, he had offered her that choice a few times, and he would have given her his best package for free.

"I know." She was not sure how to tell him what she felt at the time, "I was not sure you would stay away. And you brought danger and disruption to my life. I did not want that for Agnes."

Red felt the anger bubble inside of him, but he knew if he wanted to keep her in this cell, to keep the Constant away, he had to hide it. "I would have died to ensure no harm came to Agnes or you."

"I know. But it did not seem like enough Red." Lizzie said, "Even Kaplan was not sure you could protect us anymore. I needed to keep my daughter safe."

"And now?"

"Now, I realized there was no way I could ensure her safety. Even after I disappeared my father was able to track us. If he could find us, that meant others could as well. So I went back to the FBI, where at least I knew everyone would help me protect her."

Silence filled the cell after Lizzie's confession. Red felt the weight of betrayal and the anguish at knowing that two people who he had cared for had betray him worst than any other betrayal he could imagine.

"Did Dembe know?"

"No." Lizzie answered.

"How is Agnes?" Red asked wanting to know. If the little girl was ok, he could endure this life, much as he had endured his life after disappearing from the US knowing that little Masha would be safe with Sam.

"She is a handful. In the middle of the terrible two's." Lizzie said smiling at the thought of her daughter. She noted the shock on his face. Had he not expected her daughter to age.

It felt like she had punched him in the stomach when she said two.

"Two years old?" He asked softly stumbling over his words. It had been almost two years he had been in this hell. Almost two years he had lived everyday taking the pain because he deserved it because he could not protect her. But she was alive the entire time. What did that say about his punishment? He endured and continued to endure because it was punishment. But she was alive. Kate had betrayed him. His head was spinning at these thoughts and he felt the pain return to his chest.

"Red." Lizzie said touching his arm gently when she saw he was panting again and it looked like he was struggling to breathe.

Red's reaction would have been violently pulling his arm away. He yelped in pain, as this time the handcuff had cut into the skin on his wrist causing him to bleed. The chair had almost tipped over when he tried to move away from her.

"It is ok." She said trying to calm him down. "Just breath and look at me."

Anger and rage were in his eyes again, and it scared Lizzie. Secretly, and she hated herself for it, she was happy he was chained to the chair. Even in the state he was in, she was sure he could do serious damage to her.

A knock on the door sounded, and Liz looked behind her. When the door open the Constant was standing outside, "You have a call."

Liz looked at Red, "I will be back." The Constant shifted away from the door to allow Elizabeth room to exit.

"He will take you to my office so you can take your call in privacy." The Constant said noting the agent glare.

"I am not finished talking to the prisoner yet."

"He will still be sitting there when you get back." The constant said smiling at her, "He has nowhere else to go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Elizabeth walked down the hall looking back twice, and each time the guard waved at her from outside the cell.  Once Elizabeth entered the office, the Constant turned and glared at Reddington, “What is she talking to you about?”

Red withered under the guard’s glare, knowing that when Elizabeth left he would feel the full wrath of the Constant for any disobedience.  Maybe, just maybe, he hoped if he cooperated fully, they would let me rest and give him the food they promised.  The drugs the doctor gave him made him feel relaxed enough to sleep.   “She is asking about Veor.  But I already told you everything.”

            “Are you sure there is nothing you forgot to tell me?”

            “No sir.”  Red answered shaking again, his fingers tapping against his thigh.  “I swear there is nothing else I know about him.  I have not talked to him in over two decades.  I already told you I thought the best way to contact him was through Shen.  Veor used to help him with the opiate trade, that was how he ended up in that Chinese village.”

            “Did you tell Agent Keen that?”

            “No.  You told me not to tell anyone.”

            “IF you are lying I will know.  And you will be severely punished.  Worse than I have done to you yet.”

            “I swear.”  Red replied, his chest tightening in fear of the retribution he would receive if he had forgotten to tell the Constant anything he told Lizzie.

            “If I find out.”  The Constant warned one more time before stepping out of the cell. 

=============================

            Back in his office Elizabeth was speaking with Harold Cooper again.  “Agent Keen”  She said answering the phone that was on hold.

            “Elizabeth, I have the Attorney General here with me and Director Hopewell (the director of Clandestine Services) here with me.  They would be willing to allow Reddington to leave the prison, in custody of a guard, if he is able to provide any information that can help us find Veor or someone who will help us find Veor.  It would only become a permeant deal if any information he provides us leads us to Veor and helps us prevent any future attacks.”

            Elizabeth sighed quietly to herself because she knew this was the best deal Red could get right now, “He has not talked to the guy in decades.  He helped create a new identity for Veor.  That is all he has me so far.”

            “Do you think he is holding back information?”  A male voice that Elizabeth assumed was Director Hopewell asked.

            “No.  He has been very forthcoming.  He told me he had told one of the guards all of this information before.”

            “We told you already that we had questioned him about Veor amongst the other questions we have been asking him.  He was not very forthcoming.”

            Elizabeth wanted to snap that maybe it was their methods but she knew she had to remain emotionally detached or else they would remover her from this case.  “He has answered every question I asked him eagerly.” 

“Can you take the deal back to Reddington?” Cooper asked noting the anger in Elizabeth’s voice.

“I can.  But I do not know how much help he will be.  I only got him to start talking to me after I convinced him I was real, and the guards left us.  He is terrified of the guards here.”

“That is why we want one with him.”  Director Hopewell spoke into the phone, “Douglass, the officer in charge, has already built a rapport with Reddington.”

“A rapport.  He has beaten and starved him to near death.  Reddington has a full blown panic attack when the cell door opened.”

“Agent Keen you would do well to remember that Reddington is an enemy to our nation.  He is a criminal. Who has bought and sold sensitive information to our enemies around the world.  He went so far as to murder an Attorney General, throw my predecessor out of a plane, conspire with the organization you all called the cabal, and the blackmail a presidential candidate.  I know at one time he had this task force wrapped around his pinky, and I would be derelict in my duty to allow him that power again.  If we are not cautious, it would take years again to get the rapport built back up, once he is returned to his cell where he belongs.”

“I thought he would be freed if his information led to us stopping the attacks,”  Elizabeth asked pointing out that Director Hopewell just nullified his previous statements.

The Attorney General spoke, or at least Elizabeth assumed by the female voice, “Yes he would be.  But we are not confident that will occur.  Reddington is willing to say whatever to allow himself a chance to get out of that prison, and give his people a chance to free him or at the very least receive a break his interrogations.”

“You mean torture. When you speak of interrogations, and terrified when you speak of rapport.”  Elizabeth knew she should not have spoken that sentence but she let her anger get the best of her.  She hated the double speak utilized by people to prevent themselves from thinking of the harm they were doing to a real human being.  By using the euphemisms and calling him prisoner they were able to think of him as less than human, and it made the horrors they inflicted easier.

“Maybe Agent Keen should take a leave while we work this case.”  Director Hopewell spoke to Harold Cooper, “It seems she is too emotionally attached to Reddington.”

“He previously would only speak to her.  I am confident that he will speak more freely with less need for extreme measures with her around.”  Cooper said covering for his Agent.  “She is an asset.  Her emotional connection, I assure you, is just due to her dislike for torture.”

“If I am not mistaken she spent a lot of time around Reddington while on the run for killing the previous Attorney General.”

“She was pardoned for her actions by the president, and cleared of all wrong doings.”  Harold reminded them, “This works best and quickly with Agent Keen handling Reddington.”

“Fine.”  Director Hopewell said, “But Douglass goes wherever she goes.  She can handle Reddington, but Douglass stays with them at all times.  We cannot jeopardize the rapport.”

Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach.  

“Of course, we will need a few days to get the paperwork together.  I am under the assumption Reddington will want to see it all in writing.”  The Attorney General spoke to the group.

“Is there no way you can move faster.  We know there will be multiple coordinated attacks in the US, Canada, and Japan in the near future.”  Elizabeth said, “If we can question Veor or anyone involved before than we may be able to prevent thousands of deaths.”

“We will do our best.”  The Attorney General said after looking at Director Hopewell for confirmation. 

“I am sure the Attorney General can have something written by this evening.”  Director Hopewell said, clearly showing everyone he was the man in charge in this situation.

“Great I can continue to talk to Reddington about what he knows until then.”  Elizabeth said.

“Unfortunately, I think you will need to let Mr. Reddington see the doctor before he leaves. To treat him for any medical conditions he may have.”  Director Hopewell said, “She will need to clear him to be able to fly.  Especially if he is in such a state that he has a panic attack when his cell door is open.  I can only imagine what going into the outside world might do to him.”   

            Elizabeth wanted to kill the man as he spoke those words, but she had only one move left, “I would think getting any additional information from Reddington would be more helpful than assuring he is healthy enough to fly.  I assume he walked to the chair they chained him too on his own accord.  He can walk onto a plane just as easily, and we can have a medical doctor check him while we fly.”

            “I would rather know of any possible complications before the arise.  I think it is more humane for the prisoner if we can anticipate his physical and emotional needs.” Director Hopewell said knowing exactly what Agent Keen was trying to do.  He made a mental note to warn Douglass to keep an eye on her because he did not trust Agent Keen.  He also needed to research her weaknesses, just in case he needed to exploit one.

            “I cannot disagree to that.”  Lizzie said fuming at the idea this man had the balls to discuss humane treatment after the hell he had likely had a hand in putting Red through. 

            “Then it is settled.  We will be in contact.  I can have Douglass show you up to the guards quarters so you can get some food and rest while we prepare the prisoner for transfer.  Once the paperwork is done you will of course be needed to introduce it to Reddington.”

            As if on command the lead guard, Elizabeth deduced was Douglass, appeared at the door to his office.  “If you are ready I would be happy to take you up the guard quarters.  WE have an empty room you could utilize for your own use until later.  I have to ask that you remain upstairs though.”

            “I need to speak with Reddington before I go upstairs.”

            “Unfortunately, Reddington fell asleep while you were on the phone.  I think it best we let him rest, he has had a big day so far.  The doctor is on her way to him now, and she assures me that her initial examination will not wake him.   You will have a chance to speak to him later when the papers arrive.”

            “I guess than lead the way.”  She said hoping that they would go by Reddington’s cell one more time so she could see him.  But when they walked past the outer door was closed.  The cell had two doors to ensure that when the prisoner was in a dark phase, no ambient light could come through.  The outer door prevented ambient light, and the inner door served as the sound proof door.  

            Once upstairs, Douglass gave Elizabeth a tour starting with the kitchen that was well stocked and she was told she was welcome to any of the food in there.

            “Who cooks the prisoner’s food?”

            “We rotate.”  Douglass answered providing little else information wise.

            He continued the tour showing her to the rec room that had a pool table, television, a bookcase, and air hockey table.  “Not much but it is where the officers go to unwind at the end of shift.”  At the end of the hallway he showed her the gym.  It included a basketball rim hung on the wall with enough space to play half-court basketball, a treadmill, and weights.  “If you prefer exercise to unwind.”  He ended the tour at the empty room, “We are not at full capacity so we do not have a full staff.  Every room has its own bathroom, tv and bed.  You will not get service with your cellphone, as we are in a dead zone.  If you need anything there is usually someone around or feel free to use the radio in the rec room to call for me, I am Douglass by the way.”

            “Thank you Douglass.”  Lizzie said looking around the room.  It was not much but it was only going to be a short trip.  By nightfall she would have Reddington on a plane away from wherever they were.  She kept telling herself that as she felt her anxiety rise with each passing moment that Douglass was not in her sight.  God only knows what he was doing to Reddington, it sure was not a physical to ensure he would be able to handle the trip.  They had already lied to her about Reddington twice now and likely more since she had entered this godforsaken place.  She would feel better when she knew Red was safe with her. 

======================


	5. Chapter 5

            Anyone with a brain knew that Reddington was not solely receiving medical treatment.  That would come, but first Douglass, the Constant, was going to have a conversation with Reddington. 

            When his cell door opened Red looked up and allowed himself to be surprised, because he truly believed Lizzie when she said she would be back, to see the Constant standing in the doorway alone. 

            “Your guest has left.”  The Constant spoke to him. 

            Red wiped the expression from his face and looked straight ahead at the Constants clinched fist.  Red was still restrained to the chair, so there was nothing he could do to protect himself if the Constant used his clenched fist.

            “Are you sure you did not give here any information you had not told me?”

            “Yes.”  Red said, “I told her I knew Veor from when I worked in intelligence that I meant him when I was hiding out in a Chinese village and that I helped him get his new identity that he gave me.”  Red spoke in one breath, “That he helped me broker my first deal and he was security for that deal and we parted ways only a few months after the deal I swear I have not heard from him or about him in over two decades I assumed he took his identity and went back to Russia.” 

            “You did not tell her about why you were in China?”  The Constant asked.

            “No.  I did not tell her I meant him when he raided the opium den I was in.  She does not know about the burns I was recovering from.”

            “Any reason you keep those from her?”  The Constant knew very well about the scars on Reddington’s back, as the doctor had to warn him a few times to be careful when cutting and stabbing the prisoner as it was scar tissue that may need a skin graft to heal.  Douglass (the Constant) had also been assured that the burns were so severe that it was only likely that Reddington felt phantom pain in his back, as the nerve endings for most of his back would have been killed by the fire. 

            “No sir.”  Red answered and it was the first time in a long time he had lied to the Constant.  The Constant did not notice it because Red had years of practice about lying about this particular case.  Few people outside of Dembe and Kate Kaplan knew about the burns on Red’s back and how he got them.  The burns may be in his FBI file, after he turned himself in, but Harold had assured him they kept the description to a minimum, thinking Reddington vain at the time.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes sir.”  Red said not sure if the Constant believed him, but praying to the God he did not believe in that the Constant would believe his lie.

            “How close were you with this Agent Keen?”

            “As close as a criminal could be with an FBI agent.”

            “Yet you helped her when she was on the run.”

            “Yes.   I did.”  Red said not sure what the question was.  He was not prepared, he should have been but was not, when the Constant struck out.  His movements were fast, and Red felt the pain before he realized the Constant punched him in the stomach.

            Groaning in pain Red looked up at him, the lights hurting his sensitive eyes.

            “You had something more with her.  The way she defends you, that is not the way an FBI agent defends a criminal.”

            “I used her to get to the task force.”

            “You knew her father.”

            “Back in the day yes.”  Red answered getting another fist, this time to his genitals for his trouble. Red doubled over as much as he could in the chair vomiting up the water that Elizabeth had fed him. 

            “Why are you lying about how you know her and how close you were?”  The Constant asked waiting for Reddington to sit up more, “It makes no sense unless you have something to hide.  Or she has something to hide.” 

            When Reddington did not answer, the Constant did not take this as an act of rebellion.  By the looks of it, Reddington was still trying to recover from the low blow.  “We already know her mother was a Russian spy, Alexander Kirk was her father.  She was adopted by a former thief turned family man.  Her ex-husband or husband, a bit shady there, was an operative turned lover.  They have a daughter together.  You thought she died after giving birth to the daughter, and that is why you went on that little streak of self-destruction meets vengeance.”  The Constant stopped talking, “AM I correct so far?”

            “Yes sir.”  Red answered in a strained voice tears from the pain streaming down his face. 

            “Did I miss anything important?”  The Constant lifts Red’s head by wrapping a hand around his neck to make sure the prisoner made eye contact when he answered.  The Constant gently tighten his fingers around the prisoner’s neck to ensure he understood the price for lying.

            “No.”  Red answered. 

            The Constant knew any damage he did could not too visible, so while he wanted to strangle Reddington until he passed out, he knew it would leave a bruise.  It was a shallow threat, but one that worked.  “What else is there to Agent Keen that we don’t know?”

            Red searched his brain and started to ramble out everything he knew was in her official record, anything he would have known. 

            “Remind me again why you said you would only speak with her?”

            “Curiosity.  I knew who she was, and I thought it would come in handy if I ever needed to ensure I had one of the task force in my pocket.”  

            The Constant kept questioning him, and Red kept answering the questions even as more pain was inflicted upon him.  By time the Constant was done it hurt to breathe again.  Red was sure he had bruised or broken ribs again.  His thigh acted from taking punches to it.

            The Constant questioning changed from how Red knew Elizabeth Keen to, “Will she be a problem for us?”

            “No.”  Red wheezed out, the pain overwhelming him at times. 

            “She better not be.”  The Constant said wiping some blood off his hands onto Red’s white jumpsuit. “No one needs to know about our little conversation just now.  Just like the other one.”  The Constant said patting Red patronizingly on the face.  “I did not hear our answer.” 

            “Yes sir.”  Red ground out through clenched teeth.

            “Good boy.  You are getting out of your hole twice today.  You should feel special.  We are taking you to see the doctor.”

            Red did not question, he allowed himself to be maneuvered out of the chair and down the hallway to the waiting doctor.  The guards practically dragged him down the hallway.  They were moving at a pace that even if Red had not just been beaten, he still would not have been able to keep up with given his state of exhaustion and hunger. 

The doctor ordered the guards remove the chains so the prisoner could strip, and then started her exam.  She noted the fresh bruises, his lip was split, and the trauma to his genitals that was new.  She x-rayed his chest, and was assured by the x-ray there were no broken bones, but just some nasty bruises.  His fingers had healed since the last time she saw him, they had broken them during interrogation.  She continued her exam including obtaining urine and blood samples. 

            “His blood and urine test will take a few hours.  Is there anything specific you need to know?”

            “We need to ensure he will be fit to be moved.  He and I are moving to a new facility by the end of the day.”

            Red stood there looking at the floor as if they had not been talking about him.  The doctor knew better than to give any information without prior approval from his handler.  But at least he knew he was moving from his hole, as the Constant had called it.  Probably to a worse hole, and he was not going to escape the Constant.  He had hoped if they ever found cause to move him again, he would at least get a new guard. But like all hope in this place, it was false.

            “I do not see anything in the physical exam.  I will know more from the blood test and urine analysis.”  She said then as an afterthought, “I would like to run an EKG just to be sure that he had a panic attack before and not a heart attack.”

            “Is that necessary?”

            “Yes if he had a heart attack it could lead to other issues like a stroke, another heart attack or an entire list of other things that would result in death if not properly treated quickly.”

            “How long does the EKG take?”

            “Not that long.  Half hour at the most.”

            “Fine do it.”  The Constant said, “The other guard will stay with you while I go pack.” 

            The doctor ensured that the EKG took longer than she predicted, this way she knew Reddington was under her care for as long as possible.  She was positive it was a panic attack earlier, but she wanted to give him so peace before he left for what would likely be worse conditions.

            Just as she was finished, the guard she knew as Douglass, came back into the room.

            “I thought it would only take a half hour?”

            “Sorry it took a bit longer than I expected.  The drugs in his blood stream makes it difficult to get an accurate read.”  She was lying but she doubted Douglass knew it.  “I just want to make sure he doesn’t die on you.” 

            “And?”

            “I am reading the results now.”   She took a few more minutes studying the results, and to her surprise the prisoner had a healthy heart after all of the drugs and chemicals they had pumped into him.  “He just had a panic attack earlier it looks like.”

            “Good take him back to his cell I need to speak with the doctor.”

            The other guard grabbed Reddington, not allowing him to dress or to restrain him in anyway and dragged him back to his cell.  Once inside Red took up his residence in the corner.  Both the chairs and the water bottle were removed from the cell.  The lights went out as soon as the door closed leaving him in complete darkness.  He drifted off to sleep clutching his knees to his chest, ignoring the additional pain it caused on top of the constant pain he had grown accustomed to.  She was alive, he thought as he drifted to sleep.

=====================

            “I am not sure what else I can tell you right now Douglass.”  She said once Reddington was out of ear shot.

            “You used the prisoners name earlier?”

            “What?”

            “When you spoke about him.  You knew his name.”

            “I must have read it in his medical file.”

            “It has been redacted from every piece of information in this prison.  In fact, my team is the only one who knows his actual name.”

            “I must have overheard it.”

            “Doctor do not lie to me.  If I want to, I can have you in a cell next to him as an enemy combatant.”

            The doctor shivered at the thought.  She knew from experience what they did to females, and some of the male prisoners here.  Sexual torture and rape were not unheard of, “I overheard you call him Raymond one day when I was in my office reading an x-ray, and he was in here being treated.”

            “And?”

            “I Goggled his name.”

            “Did you tell anyone about his location?”

            “NO.  I know better than that.”

            “Do you feel sorry for him?”

            “I felt sympathy for him.”

            “Isn’t that the same thing.”

            “No. I felt pity for him.  That he had led such a life to made the United States government justified in inflicting pain on him to gain the truth.”

            “So you do not disagree with our methods?”

            “I am not found of them, I took an oath to do no harm, and I try to keep that oath.  But I understand your methods have a time and a place, and this is it.  If I had an issue with them I would not work here, Captain.”

            “You are confined to this sublevel until further notice.  You will be investigated and if no evidence arises of you contacting anyone about any of the prisoner than you will be free to leave.  If we find something you will be tried by a tribunal.  Do you understand?”

            “How long will I be confined here?”

            “As long as it takes to ensure you did not endanger the location.”

            “What about my cat?”

            “I am sure one of the officers will look in on it.”  He answered.  “Do not try to leave.  I have already deactivated any clearance you have in the system.  Let me know if anything arises from the prisoner’s blood and urine test.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

            Lizzie did his best to occupy her time while waiting to hear when they would be moving Reddington.  She had asked the guards on multiple occasions to speak with the man in charge.  They had a short window of time to prevent another horrific attack and these stalling tactics were not helping prevent the impending carnage.  After 12 hours of alternating between searching for Captain Douglass, trying to get to a phone to call Cooper, and anything to keep her moving through the exhaustion that threatened to overtake her, the exhaustion finally won out.  Lizzie ended up falling asleep sitting on the uncomfortable couch in the breakroom. 

Exhaustion was not a foreign feeling for Lizzie, however, with the addition of being a single parent with Agnes, exhaustion took on an entirely new meaning.  The bone tired feeling after a long day at work chasing blacklisters, could not match the mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion she felt.  Agnes woke up with the sun every morning and was a ball of energy.  It was always a battle to get her to take a nap, and even then the naps were no more than an hour or two. Work had been hectic as well, so there were many of days she got less than an hour of sleep.  Her friends from the task force had all been helpful, allowing her little breaks by taking Agnes for day trips during their down time.  There was the constant guilt feeling that she was not giving Agnes the life she deserved, with a family, and safety.  If that was not enough, Lizzie felt a constant guilt for Reddington’s arrest, in part, due to her betrayal.  Dembe was the perfect gentleman and never blamed her, but Lizzie knew she had chosen Tom (as she knew Red would never put Agnes in danger) over Red.  Lizzie had tried to justify the decision by saying it was for Agnes, but she knew in her heart, Red would do everything in his power to protect the girl.  But she kept him from her, and had Tom do the same while she was “dead”. 

So when Lizzie woke to the sound of a helicopter landing on the small island she felt, even more, guilt wash over her.  Despite her justified reason for being exhausted enough to fall asleep, after hours of waiting, she knew she should have stayed awake and done more to expedite the process.  It was more than Red getting out of this hell-hole, it was innocent people's lives that could be sacrificed because she had fallen asleep and not done everything she could to push the transfer through.

Looking out the small window, Lizzie saw the Attorney General and the Director of Clandestine Services climbing out of the helicopter and walking towards the building Lizzie was in.  What were they doing here?  They could very well have faxed over the paperwork, and yet they showed up. 

Douglass walked into the lounge with a smile on his face, “ “I hope you slept well, Agent Keen.”

            Lizzie just glared at the man but did not respond because the Attorney General and the Director of Clandestine Services walked into the lounge.

            The Attorney General thick southern accented voice asked, “Is there any more coffee?  The flight and chopper ride here was hell.” 

            “Of course ma’am.”  Douglass walked over to the coffee pot and poured everyone a cup of coffee. “Does anyone need creamer or sugar?”  He asked walking over the small round table where the officers ate their dinners.  It was the best place to hold the meeting above ground. 

            “Thank you, Captain Douglass.”  The Attorney General said everyone took a seat at the table.

            After taking the first blessed sip of her coffee, Lizzie asked, “When are we leaving?”

            “Straight to the point.  An agent after my own heart.”  Director Hopewell said smiling at Lizzie.

            “The doctor is almost done with Reddington.  As soon as she gives the go ahead, we will go down and introduce the deal to him.  If he signs the paperwork, then we are out of here.”  Douglass answered.

            “Do we have an ETA?  It has been over twelve hours since the doctor started her examination.”  Elizabeth asked wondering what horrors Reddington had been subjected to over the last twelve hours. 

            “Half hour more I believe.  The doctor wished to run a few test and we are waiting on the results.”  Douglass answered.

             “In the meantime, we need to discuss the security arrangements for Reddington while he is in your and Captain Douglass custody.”   Director Hopewell interjected.

            “The black site, I think you all call it the post office?”  The Attorney General asked, “Has a holding cell where Reddington can be placed when not helping out.”

            “How do we ensure his people do not try to take him back?”  Hopewell asked, “I understand his second in command, Dembe Zuma, still works with the task force from time to time.”

            “Yes to both.  There is a holding cell and Dembe still, works with us.  I can assure you Reddington’s people will not try to take him back, as long as he is working on the case with us.”  Elizabeth answered knowing that Red appeared to understand they needed his help, and what was at stake if he did not help. “However, from previous experience with Reddington, he is of the most help when he is able to be mobile and meet with his contacts.”

            “While you like to think the best of Reddington, we have to live in the real world.  WE cannot let him roam around freely.”  Douglass said not hiding his disdain for the FBI agent who seemed to care about the criminal Reddington. 

            “Raymond will put the lives of thousands ahead of his freedom.”  Liz said.

            “How can you be so sure?”  Hopewell asked staring intently at Liz.  He wondered about the Agents unyielding allegiance to Reddington.  The last report he had read, prior to her death, had detailed that the two had a falling out.  The Agent wanted Reddington out of her life.  That was in part, why she faked her death. 

            “Because he has done it before.”  Liz said, “And I know if he gives me his word he will keep it.”

            “She is living in a fairytale world.”  Douglass protested when he saw Hopewell seemed to be agreeing with her.

            “Are you willing to bet your career on this?”  The Attorney General asked Lizzie.

            “Yes.  I have many of times before.”  Lizzie said choosing her next words carefully.  She knew, with this crowd, she could not seem to be completely on Reddington’s side, “As long as we handle Reddington properly, he will be an asset.”

            “And how do we handle Reddington properly?”  Hopewell asked, “Because last time you were his handler, I understand he had free reign over the task force and the resources of the task force.  Reddington was able to build his empire, by using the FBI to target his competitors.”

            “At times yes, but there was always a reason behind why we went after the various blacklisters.”

            “Enlighten us please.”  Hopewell stated.

            “The first group, he was trying to figure out who was after him and why.  Eventually, we realized it was Berlin.  Each one of the earlier blacklisters led him to Berlin.”

            “And after that?”  Hopewell asked.

            “After that, it was the Cabal.  Reddington was trying to take them down to prevent them from killing him and me.” 

            “Why would the Cabal be after you?”  The Attorney General asked, though she already knew the answers.

            “My mother.  She was a Russian spy and she somehow was involved with the fulcrum.”

            “The fulcrum that Reddington released to the press?”  Hopewell questioned.

            “Investigative journalist yes.  Every one of the blacklisters up until we were able to clear my name were meant to help take down the Cabal.”  Elizabeth said looking at Hopewell who kept staring at her.  It was unnerving to have his undivided attention on her. 

            She continued after taking a drink of her coffee, “After we cleared my name, we shifted to the people who were after me.  Red did not know it was Alexander Kirk.”

            “Who is actually your father based on your debrief?”  Hopewell said.

            “Yes.  I did not know that at the time.  I thought my father was dead.”

            “What about Reddington?  Did he know your father was alive?”  The Attorney General asked.

            “I do not know.”

            “Did he say anything to you about that?”  Hopewell asked Douglass who was listening to the conversation taking note of what he knew from Reddington and what he did not.

            “Yes.”  Douglass answered confirming Elizabeth’s suspicion that Douglass had been able to get information out of Red. 

Dembe had told her that some of their associates were being arrested, killed, or frighten away by someone.  Someone who seemed to have a lot of inside information on what was occurring.  Dembe had told her this during one of their late night work sessions.  The entire task force worked after hours trying to locate Reddington.  The night Dembe informed them of this, the task force had followed up a lead that ultimately was a dead-end.  Leaving everyone wondering if they could find Reddington, or if Reddington was already buried in an unmarked grave somewhere.  Dembe had been telling them without outright saying it, that the information was likely coming from Raymond. 

“What did he tell you about it?”  Lizzie asked in part because she still wondered if Red knew her father was alive and well.

“That is classified,”  Douglass smiled cruelly at her. 

“Ok.”  Elizabeth answered attempting to show she did not care.  Douglass, she was realizing, was a very disturbed man.  She felt chills run through her when he smiled at her or looked at her. She had only had this happen one other time, and that had been a serial killer who had been responsible for over fifty deaths of women that the FBI knew of. It had been part of her training as a profiler.

The sound of a vibrating phone stopped all conversation, Douglass grabbed his phone out of his pocket, “Excuse me.”

The Attorney General started speaking as soon as Douglass cleared the room, “Are you positive you need to remove Reddington from this facility to get the information?”

“Yes.”  Elizabeth answered, “He will be able to help us find Veor, and he will be able to help us with more if you all let him.” 

“We will see.”  Hopewell answered looking bored already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. We are working on the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

When Douglass returned minutes later, the room was silent.  Elizabeth got tired of trying to convince the others Red would do the right thing.  After all, she would never have believed it before she worked close with Red for years.  A criminal as renowned as him, doing the right thing after the federal government has tortured him for years.  No, that seemed like a fairytale, but Elizabeth learned with Reddington, fairytales were not just fictional. 

“The doctor is done with Reddington.”

“Let’s get things in motion. We are on a clock after all.”  Hopewell said standing up and taking his cup to the sink. 

“Already ahead of you.  I radioed and the lift is already waiting for us.”

Liz followed everyone out of the room to the waiting elevator.  They rode it down to an unmarked floor and climbed out.  Red’s cell not too far from the elevator and the outer door was already open with two men waiting with three folding chairs. 

“One of my men and I will go in and wake the prisoner up.  Protocol is we have to restrain him.”

“You need not worry about protocol this time.”  Hopewell spoke having the power to make such decisions.

“Ok Sir.  Then I will wake the prisoner up, but I insist I stay in the cell just in case he has a negative reaction to seeing any of you.  When I open this cell for Agent Keen last time, the prisoner had an attack.  There is no way to know how he would have reacted without the restraints he was in.”

“I have no objections.”  Hopewell said looking to the Attorney General who nodded in agreement. 

Elizabeth wanted to speak up and say that Reddington may be reluctant given that they were allowing his torturer to be present.  She was sure that Douglass had power over Reddington.  The man seemed to control Red’s entire existence these days.  Any paper Reddington signed could be questioned because of the presences of Douglass.  But ultimately, it did not matter because the deal was in Red’s best interest, and there was little reason to question his sanity for agreeing to it, if it meant his freedom.

Douglass signaled the door operator to open the inner door.  When the door opened the cell was all dark except for the light that shined in from the hallway with the outer door still open.  Elizabeth did not see Red inside at first, but a few seconds after the door open, the cell was illuminated by the strong fluorescent light overhead.  It took another second for her eyes to adjust before she spotted Reddington in the corner.  He was sitting up, but somehow managed to curl into himself in the corner.  She felt her heart break when she saw he was completely naked, they did not even have the decency to provide him with clothes and protect his modesty.  

However, Red seemed to be unaware of his visitors because he did not react to the door opening, the light, or the sound of Douglass’s approaching boots.  “Prisoner,”  Douglass said towering over the prisoner. 

Red still did not react, from what Elizabeth could tell, his breathing was even.  She concluded he was likely asleep.  It made her wonder, how long had he been deprived of sleep?  The Red she knew, from spending months on the run with him, he barely ever slept and his sleep was always light.  There had been one exception to this, and it was when he had become ill with the flu.  He was down for two days, and on the first day, he slept like the dead.  It was after he had spent days awake, and he convinced her on the third day it was just exhaustion catching up to him.  She had worried because she knew, at that time, he had been recovering still from the bullet wound.   

Douglass kicked at Reddington’s leg, trying to shake the prisoner awake.  The sound of flesh on flesh made Elizabeth’s blood boil.  It was clear Red was asleep there was no need to kick him.  Somehow, she kept her emotions in check, though.  A soft groan from a clearly sleeping person was the only indication Red felt Douglass’s probing foot.

“The doctor gave him valium earlier.”  Elizabeth reminded Douglass trying desperately not to lash out at him.  She knew if she wanted to work with Reddington, she needed to appear as impartial as she could be, “He may still be out of it from the valium.”

“I know that is why I am gently waking him up.”  As Douglass snapped back at Lizzie's comment, he reached down and roughly grabbed Red’s arms and yanked him upwards.

Red cried out in shock and pain as his arms were yanked painfully overhead.  His eyes snapped open and he looked confused and lost.  It made Liz want to run up to him and protect him.  Instead, she stayed rooted to the spot.

“Wake up,”  Douglass said leaning Red against the wall and smacking his face a few times.

Red opened his eyes wide and tried to show the Constant he was awake so he would stop smacking him.

“There much better.  You are quite the popular guy.  You have two more visitors.”  The Constant taunted him, “Kneel down while they talk to you.  Keep your hands behind your head, and your legs crossed behind you.”

Red obeyed as soon as the Constant gave him enough room to kneel down.  He shook as he raised his hands and laced them behind his head.  He ignored the shame he felt because he knew he was completely naked and the current position did not allow him any modesty. Despite the Constants efforts, occasionally, Red found some defiance within himself to push back.  This was only a minor protest, not acting the way the Constant would want, but it was what kept part of Red sane.

Lizzie studied every bruise, scar, and mark on Reddington’s body she could see.  She could only see his front side, and she already saw what looked like fibrous scar tissue on his sides.  She wondered how far it extended.  She had never seen him this undressed before.  Even after he was shot, they had kept him in clothes.  When she came back from his creepy little apartment, as she called it, she had found him in a hoodie.  She frowned because she knew that creepy little apartment no longer existed.  She had gone to visit it when she returned from her fake death and imprisonment at her father’s hands, and found the creepy apartment empty.  When she finally had the nerve to ask Dembe about it, he told her he nor any of Raymond’s people had cleaned out the apartment.

When Hopewell entered, Red’s eyes darted to the ground.  He had meant this man once before in this cell.  It had not ended well for Red.  Red saw the shoes Elizabeth was wearing earlier, and he cringed inside knowing she was observing him like this as well. 

“You could have at least got the prisoner some clothes,”  Hopewell said purposely as he was reminding Reddington of his nakedness to further embarrass the prisoner. “We have to ladies with us.”

“Raymond Reddington.”  The Attorney General spoke in her thick Southern Accent ignoring the pity she felt for the criminal shaking before her, “I need you to look up at me, so I can ensure you are Raymond Reddington.”  Normally, the Attorney General was very much against torture, but she understood in some incidents torture was a necessary evil.  She was not sure Raymond Reddington’s case was one of them, but it was above her pay grade to make that decision.

Red raised his head, looking her in the eye, doing his best not to waiver and prevent any emotion from showing in his eyes.  This small act of defiance would likely cost him, but with Lizzie and the other snakes in his cell, he would willing pay the price for some bit of pride,   “Are all in agreement that this prisoner is Raymond Reddington?”

Everyone said agreed to maintain the protocol.

“Reddington we are here to offer you a deal.”  She looked at him with disgust on her face as the cell stank of sweat, feces, urine, blood, and rotten food, “If you can provide us with information that leads to the capture of Veor and the people behind the attacks overseas, you will be allowed to return to working with the task force with your previous deal in place.”

Red looked up at the Constant to see if he would be allowed to speak, and to gauge how likely this deal was a real thing. 

The Constant just stood towering over him and gave no indication other than he was bored.

Red kept staring up at him and did not speak.

“Mr. Reddington we need an answer,”  Hopewell spoke for everyone watching Reddington.

When Red did not answer, the Constant looked down at him and a wicked smile came to his face.  He knew what Red was doing. 

“Go ahead speak freely prisoner.”  The Constant ordered.  He had seen Reddington's defiant look at the Attorney General, and he would make his charge pay for it later.  Now as not the time.  Now he was relishing in the fact that despite the small act of defiance, the mixed crowd, Reddington still knew his place, and was still too terrified to break the rules.  It was a great show of his abilities.  Director Hopewell had been impressed when Capt Douglass had reported he was getting information out of Reddington.  Douglass knew that this was the case of his lifetime.  After conquering Reddington, he guaranteed himself any job he wanted working under the branch of Clandestine Services.  Word had filtered down, that when promotions came around, his name was in the running for Major, and possibly Lt. Col the following year if he kept up the good work.

Red turned his gaze to Liz and he saw tears in her eyes, but also what he thought was hope.  So maybe the deal was real, even if it wasn’t, it would not hurt to get out of here.  Even for a short period of time.

“What will I have to do?”  He asked his voice rough and scratchy.  Screaming yourself horse multiple times could do that.

“Work with the task force as you did before you went AWOL and started killing people.”  Hopewell spoke, “You will have restrictions of course, as you are still a prisoner of the United States government until you fulfill your deal.”

“What restrictions?”  Red asked wondering if that meant he would stay here, and just feed information to Lizzie.

“Captain Douglass will travel with you, and he and Agent Keen will be responsible for your supervision.  You will remain in their custody at all times.”

Red wondered who Captain Douglass was, but he guesses it really did not matter.  “I will do whatever I can to help.”

“Good.”  The Attorney General produced some paperwork, “We will need you to sign this paperwork. Agent Keen, Director Hopewell, and Captain Douglass will act as our witnesses.”

Red’s sluggish brain realized that the Constant was Captain Douglass.  The papers were laid out in front of him, but Red made no move to grab the pen or sign the papers.

Douglass rolled his eyes, “Prisoner you may sign the papers.” 

Red moved slowly, afraid of eliciting any punishment.  He signed the paperwork and returned to his hands behind his head.

“Great.  Get him some clothes so we can get moving.”  Director Hopewell ordered standing up from the chair.

“When was the last time the prisoner ate?”  The Attorney General asked noticing how thin Reddington was.  He looked a shell of the man she had once observed working with the task force.

“I already ordered food delivered to the plane for our flight.  Reddington can eat when we reach the plane.”  Hopewell stated from outside of the cell.

One of the guards was already waiting outside with fresh orange jumpsuit for Reddington.  Once he could get inside the cramped cell, he dropped the jumpsuit in front of Reddington and retreated from the cell.

“Get dressed.”  Douglass ordered stepping away from Red and then past Lizzie to get out of the cell.

Everyone left the cell, waiting for Reddington just outside the second door.

Red slowly stood up, grabbing the orange jumpsuit.  He quickly dressed, relishing in covering up his nudity, and the bit of warmth the thin rough material provided.  In his previous life, the time before he had come to live in hell, he would have complained about the roughness of the material.  It scrapped against the cuts, bruises, and scar tissue that covered his body.  However, right now he was just happy to have clothes again.

While Reddington was dressing, Lizzie got a view of his back, and the extensive scar tissue that covered his entire back.  There were new and older scars etched into the fibrous scar tissue, but she could tell the burns to his back had been very old.  A part of her mind, started to hypothesize that he was the man she saw on the floor under the beam.  But she could not just confirm that because he had burns on his back.  There was a multitude of situations where he could have received those scars.  She knew in her heart, Reddington had saved her from the fire, and she was looking at the evidence, but she could not process it right now.

“Basic restraints will be fine.”  Hopewell said leaning against the wall clearly tired of waiting for the prisoner. 

Douglass produced a pair of handcuffs and quickly secured Red’s hands behind his back. 

            A bag was placed over Red’s head, causing him to gasp and waver on his feet.  “Just precaution.  We don’t need you figuring out where this place is.”  Douglass hissed in his ear.  “So calm down.”

            Red tried his best to calm down and allowed himself to be led blindly towards somewhere.  They got him on the elevator and they rode in silence to the main floor.  Once there, Red was led down the hall and to the outside world.  The first step outside Red’s entire body shivered at the cold.  He took a deep breath, sucking in some of the hood over his head.  This was the first time he had smelled fresh air in a long time.  The first time the air did not smell of sweat, feces, urine, and other unpleasant odors.  He enjoyed every burning lungful. 

            Red tripped a few times as he was pushed towards some unknown location through the uneven ground. Douglass strong grasp on his arm keeping Reddington from tipping to the ground.  Out of breath from even the short walk, Reddington was pulled to a stop.  The sound of the helicopter was so loud, it hurt Reddington’s ears.  He was shivering in the thin jumpsuit, the cold licking at his skin through the thin material.  But it was not just the cold making him shiver, even with the hood on, he felt a sensory overload.  He had read autobiographies of prisoners, who had spoken about how overwhelming life was when they were released from prison.  This experience was overwhelming.  His heart was racing, threatening to burst out of his chest, and each breath felt like he was breathing in cold air and releasing out hot air.  The world was spinning in the darkness of the hood.  It was a panic attack, he knew, but it did not help stop the feeling of doom overtaking him.

            Red almost screamed when Hopewell and Douglass hand's grabbed him, one on each side and lifted Reddington into the waiting helicopter, Douglass following.  “Calm down.”  Douglass hissed into Red’s ear while he secured the prisoner's seatbelt.

Douglass took the seat next to his prisoner, keeping an eye on the man who was clearly hyperventilating. 

Lizzie sat on the other side of Red. She moved in closer to Red who she could tell was shaking.  She hoped her proximity would comfort him.  As close as she was, she could feel the chill coming off him.  She knew it would only get worse when the helicopter took flight, so she stayed as close as she could hoping her own body heat would help warm him.

            Lizzie kept an eye on Reddington’s body language just to ensure he was doing ok.  No one would be able to hear him over the propellers. She felt a sharp pain in her chest at the thought of what they had done to Reddington to make him like this. 

Thankfully, the flight in the helicopter was short.  The woods they flew over did not help Lizzie figure out where they were, she honestly had no idea where they were.  She knew the flight took too long, so they were unlikely still in the United States.  But who knows, they could have flown in circles.  She had flown here on an Air Force plane that had no windows for her took out of. 

            They arrived at the small airstrip she had seen for the first time over 24 hours ago.    

“I thought we could use my private jet,”  Hopewell spoke as he led the way out of the helicopter to the waiting jet.

            They unloaded Red and dragged him to the waiting plane.  Once Douglass secured the prisoner to the last chair before the cargo hold, he started closing all of the shades on the windows.  The others settled towards the front of the plane in a little conference area.  Lizzie wanted to sit by Reddington, but Douglass took up residences right next to him.   

            “Once we reach cruising altitude, I will have Susan serve dinner.”  Hopewell informed everyone, “Meanwhile the bar is fully stocked.  Let Susan know what you want.”

            A woman appeared from what Elizabeth assumed was the galley area.  She took drink orders from everyone but Reddington.  Only Hopewell and the Attorney General were drinking.  Both Elizabeth and Douglass opted for water.  Susan, the flight attendant, appeared to not be the least bit bothered by having a prisoner onboard. Lizzie noted as she watched the woman work.

            Lizzie looked back at Douglass and Red.  Douglass was saying something to Reddington, it was too soft for Lizzie to hear what he said, but Red nodded his head in response.  Douglass removed the bag from Red’s head and put it on the prisoner's lap. 

            Red blinked against the harsh light.  It burned his eyes, and eventually Red settled for squinting against the light.  He took in his surroundings, enjoying the warmth of the interior of the jet.  No one paid attention to him, Red noticed, except for the occasional glance from Lizzie.  The flight attendant did not speak to him or ask him his drink order like she had the others.    

            A voice over the intercom startled Red, who jumped a bit at the sound of the pilot’s voice.  “If everyone is settled in, we are cleared for takeoff.”   The pilot had already been briefed about not providing any information about flight time or conditions.  This was not his first time flying a high profile prisoner, whoever it was, and it would not be his last.  Before Director Hopewell had recruited him as his own personal pilot, he had flown planes full of high profile prisoners all around the world.  It was how he had meant Hopewell, when the Director (before he was the Director) had flown with one of the prisoners, utilizing various techniques to make the prisoner speak.  It had been an interesting flight, hearing another man's screams over the sound of the engines.  The Director had been impressed with the pilot’s willingness to cooperate by opening the plane in midair to aid in the interrogation of the prisoner during the flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated we do incorporate reader feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

 

            Elizabeth was not offered a single chance to talk to Reddington while they flew back to D.C. from the confidential location of the blacksite prison.  She had kept an eye on Reddington, ensuring that ate some of the broth and sandwiches he was offered.  There were signs that the old Red was still in there, but more often than not she was left wondering just how broken was the Concierge of Crime.  There were little signs that he was in pain or felt discomfort.  For instance, halfway through the flight, he started to fidget some trying to find a comfortable position with his arms secured as they were.  Or worse how he walked like he was on egg shells getting off the plane. 

            She kept telling herself once they got him back to the post office, and get him around the others he would look better than the pale fragile man she observed in the cell.  No one spoke on the ride to the post office, the Attorney General left them at the airport, and that left Douglass, Elizabeth, and Hopewell (the Director of Clandestine services) to ride back to the post office with Red.  Elizabeth sat in the backseat with Red sitting stiffly between her and Douglass.  She tried to provide him comfort, touching his arm and rubbing it when he appeared to flinch as the sounds of D.C. filtered into the car. 

            Red was nervous that all of this was some sick joke.  It was not the first time the Constant, Douglass he reminded himself, had gone to great lengths as this to get Red to talk.  But Lizzie would never help them, would she? Seeing her was unsettling.  Throughout the flight, he had time to think.  The food, warm tea, and the knowledge that physical and mental torture were not going to happen (at least for the duration of the flight) allowed him to think a bit clearer than he had in a long time.  What he concluded was that Elizabeth, his Lizzie, had faked her death to get away from him.  It was the only possible answer because he would have helped her (even fake her death) but she chose not to tell him.  Instead, she left him to mourn her, did she think he wouldn’t mourn her?  Was he so bad that she had to fake death to be free of him?  Would he have left her alone had she asked?  All of these questions whirled around his head, making him feel sick, or maybe it was just having a full stomach after months of surviving on the bare minimum.   

            He wanted to ask her, but he found he was still afraid to speak with the Constant sitting next to him.  Instead of getting answers he settled for the questions swirling around his head.  Red felt a pang of something, longing maybe when they finally pulled up to the post office.  He was not sure what it was, but he did know his heart was racing now as the SUV stopped and the Constant climbed out, grabbing Red’s arm to drag him along.  The Constant kept his arm in a vice grip as he escorted Red inside. 

            Red noted how everything still smelled the same.  The upstairs always had the moldy old building smell, but the elevator ride to the sub-level took on a new smell of air conditioning and crisp clean air.  When the elevator landed Red did his best to hide the discomfort he felt walking back into the post office a prisoner of the United States government.  He was marched through the floor with the old gang staring at him as he was escorted by the Constant.  Red, uncharacteristically, kept his head bowed watching his feet move one in front of the other as the hands pushed and pulled him through the open floor.  He heard Donald Ressler’s voice telling the Constant that they had set up a cell for Red in the back after the deal had been approved.  Red fully expected to be stuck inside the clear box, a caged animal for all to see, but it seems they had additional holding cells in the facility. 

            It was a smallish cell, but not as small as the one he had called home for almost two years.  The world spun when this thought entered his mind.  Almost two years of his life in a prison cell, being physically tortured almost daily for so long, and the mental torture never stopped.  Two years.  Closing his eyes he focused on his breathing.  Breath in and out, he kept chanting inside his head as he tried to slow his breathing.  When he opened his eyes time had passed and he was still standing in the middle of the new cell with no one around.  At least there were lights here, he thought to himself taking a seat on the cot.  The cot felt uncomfortable because it was too soft, compared to the cement floor he had called a bed.  He shivered, not sure he was actually cold, or if it was just a mental reaction to his surroundings.  Moving down to the floor, where he felt more comfortable he pulled the top blanket off the bed, finding multiple other blankets under it.  The valium the doctor had given him still subdued him and made him feel exhausted, or maybe it was the two years of mental and physical torture, he thought bitterly. 

            Someone either remembered his request to have multiple thinner blankets instead of one heavy blanket or someone wanted to ensure he was warm.  Either way, he decided it best to not look the gift horse in the mouth, and he pulled all of the blankets down.  He made quick work of making a bed on the floor and curled up in the blanket hoping to fall asleep and wake up to the past two years being nothing more than a nightmare.  How many times had he wished this before?  A return to the post office, with Lizzie alive?  Or just being not too warm or too cold for once.  Maybe, this time, it would happen. 

=================

            Ressler could not believe the shape of Reddington when he was marched into the post office.  It appeared that Reddington was much leaner than he had been even back in his military days.  The pale ragged look did not do him any favors, Donald mused as he showed Douglass and Red back to the cell they had set up for Red.  It was a decision by Harold to keep Reddington somewhere other than the box.  No one disagreed and they all pitched in to make the holding cell in the back slightly more comfortable. 

            “Has he eaten?”  Ressler asked musing on just how much weight Red had lost and wondering how much of the missing years had been spent waiting for death. 

            “Yes,”  Lizzie answered rubbing her scar feeling like Ressler was judging her and blaming her for Red’s state.  It was her fault, after all, he had gone on the kamikaze mission to revenge her death. The bitch was that she was not dead.  No one had outright blamed her, but she felt it in their glances at her. 

            “Good,”  Ressler said looking at the door that led to the holding cell.  “Did he give you anything we can work with?”

            “Not yet.”  Lizzie said, “I did not get much of a chance to talk to him while we were flying back.”

            Their conversation abruptly stopped when Douglass walked into their shared office, “Are there camera’s set up in the prisoner's cell?”

            “Yes.”  Ressler answered, “Aram can help you with getting access to the live feed.” 

            “Thank you.”  Douglass spoke again as an afterthought, “You are Agent Ressler right?”

            “Yes?”  Ressler responded more as a question than a statement.

            “You had great notes on the prisoner.”  Douglass stated, “Between your notes on him and Agent Keen’s profile it made interrogation much easier.” 

            Donald just looked at the man not wanting to thank him for what once would have been a compliment.  In the past, he might have when the world was black and white, good versus evil, right versus wrong.  The time spent working on the blacklist with Reddington taught Donald there was grey in the world, and Reddington was one of the people who lived in the grey.  He was not wholly good or bad.  He was human, Donald mused at the memory of how fragile Reddington looked now compared to previously.

            “Though Agent Keen did get one thing wrong.”  Douglass knew he was getting to Keen by letting her know her profile had been helpful, he was surprised by Ressler's response.  From what he had learned about the man (via his notes, FBI file on Ressler, and Red’s information) did not fit Ressler having empathy for a criminal. 

            “What is that?”  Liz asked checking her anger inside. 

            “He is not comfortable in all settings.  He really hates heat and long periods of darkness.”  Douglass smiled at her, “He screamed for hours once, scratching at his own skin thinking ghost were attacking him.  I’m sure the drugs aided, but he really hated the dark after that.  Caught him mumbling to someone a few times.”

            With that Douglass left the agents in search of the one named Aram. 

            “I hate that guy,”  Liz said glaring at his back.

            “He seems like a joy to be around,”  Ressler responded sarcastically trying to shake the mental image of the breakdown Douglass just described.  Ressler had seen Red suffer before, and had caused a bit himself, but he never expected Red to break.  Raymond Reddington did not break, at least that was the word on the street.  Clearly, he had broken, just by looking at him.  Everyone breaks, Ressler remembered being told that during his interrogation training (both to withstanding and being the perpetrator of torture). 

            “I’m going to go check on Red.”  Lizzie said getting up from her desk.

            “Don’t.”  Ressler said, “Hopewell is already angling to get you off the case.  He says you are too close to Reddington and are a liability.”

            “But I am the one who can get him to talk.”

            “Yes, and that is why you are still here.”  Ressler said, “But if you keep feeding their narrative he’ll convince the higher ups he is right and you’ll be removed.”

            Lizzie sighed sitting back down at her desk.  “Have you heard from Dembe?”

            “He called earlier to check in on any news about Reddington.”

            “Did you tell him?”

            “Yes.  As soon as he finds a _suitable_ babysitter for Agnes, he will be here.”  Ressler responded.

            Lizzie smiled at Donald’s statement.  Thinking both of her daughter and Dembe’s definition of a suitable babysitter.  There was a reason why Ressler had stressed the word suitable.  Dembe was pickier than Lizzie (which was hard to believe because she had a long list of requirements) about who was allowed to watch Agnes. 

            Before Lizzie could ask another question, Harold showed up at the office door.  “Elizabeth, did you get anything from Reddington we can work with?”

            “Not yet,”  Lizzie responded shifting in her seat.

            “Dembe called to tell me he was leaving Agnes with Charlene.  He informed me that Baz and his team will be taking up residence in my house for the foreseeable future.”

            “Why?”  Lizzie asked worried that Dembe had intel on a threat she did not know about.

            “With Reddington's appearance, he is being cautious that some of their enemies might try something.”  Harold responding choosing to call them enemies instead of Lizzie’s biological father or one of his associates in the Cabal. When she did not respond Harold continued, “Ressler and you should probably go talk to Reddington to get more information.  We need something to go on before there are more attacks.”           

            Everyone in the room had been guilty of thinking the same thing at least once in the short time since having seen Reddington for the first time.  The simple thought may hold some weight, was Reddington up to helping them or was the man they had known long gone broken beyond repair.  Only time would tell, but they all knew they had to do something to prevent him from returning to an unknown blacksite and being tortured at the hands of the man they all knew as Douglass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay some of us had a grant proposal to finish and refused to do any fun work until it was done. BTW, we already have next chapter written just have to proofread. Motivation to proofread caused by reviews! Just saying. Either way thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Donald was the first to enter the holding cell with Douglass right behind him.  When he saw the bed was empty, blankets removed, his heart stopped for a second thinking the worse.  Then he saw a lump curled up on the floor, almost completely underneath the frame of the cot. 

            Ressler frowned at the image feeling anger rise up in his chest as his heart raced with the increased blood flow.  Going to open the cell Douglass grabbed his arm to stop him.

            “What are you doing?”  Ressler snapped yanking his arm out of Douglass’s grasp.

            “You can talk to the prisoner from here,”  Douglass said thinking he had the ability to control Ressler’s actions.

            “I could, but I’m not,”  Ressler said moving again to open the cell.  Douglass tried one more time to stop Ressler, but Ressler roughly pulled away from the man seething in anger, “You may have controlled every single thing about the prisoner’s life when he was in your custody, but he is now in the custody of the FBI.  Which means I, as an FBI Agent make the decision about what happens to the prisoner.” 

            Douglass glared at Ressler, but did not try to stop Ressler from going inside the cell      Ressler for his part glared back enjoying the little triumph.  Not just because he had won, but because it told him a lot about the man that was Capt Douglass.  It told him, all in all, Douglass was a coward.  He liked to prey upon those who he knew he controlled.  It meant when push comes to shove when Douglass did not have the upper hand he would back down.  Douglass was nothing more than a bully.  Ressler knew how to deal with bullies he had many of times in his life. How the hell did a man like Capt Douglass ever break someone like Raymond Reddington?  Ressler mused for a second before he caught a glimpse of the broken man on the hard cement floor under the cot. 

            Ressler only needed one step to get to the point where he could crouch down next to the cot.  He sat there for a second trying to figure out the best way to wake up Reddington. He did not want to startle him, given his position almost completely under the cot (which was a tight fit), Ressler was worried he might injure himself if he tried to move from fear. 

            “Hey Reddington.”  Ressler called out in a soft voice ignoring the sound of Douglass breathing behind him.  “Reddington time to wake up.”  Ressler called again getting nothing from Red.  Frowning he reached out gently touching Red’s arm, he felt the muscle tense underneath alerting him that Red was feigning sleep.  “I just want to talk.”

            Red still did not move from under the cot.

            “Move so I can get the prisoner out.”  Douglass said advancing on the cell.

            Ressler felt and seen Red flinch at Douglass’s voice.  It made him hate Douglass even more.  No one, not even someone like Reddington deserved this.  This was not justice, this was not the American way.  This was wrong, and Ressler felt sick for his part in Reddington’s current fate.    

             “No I got this.”  Ressler responded moving to ensure he was blocking Red’s from Douglass, “Why don’t you wait outside.  He just needs a few minutes to wake up is all.  There is only one possible exit, so if he tries to escape you’ll be right there to stop him.”

            Douglass glared at Ressler, but could not justify his continued presences.  He would use the time to find Director Hopewell and have a conversation about who had jurisdiction over Reddington and getting Agent Ressler removed from the facility.  The man Douglass had assumed would be his allies was anything but, and the sympathy he saw in Ressler’s eyes made him sick to his stomach.  Clearly, Ressler had gone native during his time working with Reddington as an informant.

            “He’s gone,”  Ressler said moving away from the cot to give Red space. 

            Red waited another minute calming his breathing, as his fight or flight response kicked in when Douglass had promised to get him out from under the cot.  Unfortunately, he had been condition to expect pain when Douglass was around, and as much as he hated how weak it made him feel to fear the man, he could not stop it.  Douglass had easily turned him into one of Pavlov’s dogs.  Red thought bitterly, at least he was no longer the cat alive/dead in the box.

            “Dembe is on his way.”  Ressler said waiting for Red to leave the space under the cot, “He stopped to pick up coffee and pastry’s from a shop in town.”  Ressler said sitting down to talk to Red.  “He should be here soon.”

            Finally, after minutes of no response from Red, Ressler decided that Reddington was giving him the cold shoulder, not out of fear, but because of Ressler’s part in getting Reddington captured by the sadistic bastards that were the US government.  “I am sorry.  I honestly did not know they would arrest you and imprison you, let alone torture you.  I was told they would remind you of your deal with the task force, and prevent you from killing more people.”  

            Ressler sighed when he did not get a response from Red.  Had anyone told him years ago he would be sitting on the cement floor, with his knees pulled up to his chest, waiting for the Concierge of Crime to come out from under a cot, where he was hiding, Ressler would have called bull shit.  Had they told him he would be apologizing for turning in the same man hiding under the cot, he would have called for backup because he knew he was clearly dealing with a mental patient.   

            “We searched for you.  All of us.”  Ressler said, “I know it does not make up for what I did.  But when you went missing, the task force focused on finding you.  I called in every favor I had to try to get a location on you, and Aram was searching all of the electronic records to find any clue where you went.  I do not even want to know how he got access to most of the databases he had searched.  Samar had Israeli intelligence helping, and even Cooper was calling in favors. Dembe searched day and night, and single-handedly organized Liz’s recuse from Kirk.  I honestly did not know all of this would happen.” 

            “It wasn’t your fault.”  Reddington’s voice came from under the cot, “You were doing your job.”

            “My job is not that simple.  How many times did you try to tell me.”  Ressler answered leaving a lot unsaid but both men knew exactly what Ressler meant.

            Reddington slowly moved out from under the cot grunting in his effort to not jar his body.  His abdomen and lower back ached from Douglass previous treatment.  When he was out from under the cot, Red felt a bit childish for having hidden under there.  In truth, he had fallen asleep and in his sleep, he had somehow moved under the cot.  Now he sat up slowly, the world spinning a bit at the sudden change in his position.

            Noticing the distress Red seemed to be in, Ressler moved to kneel in front of him worried, “Are you ok?  We can get a doctor.”

            “I’m fine,”  Red said panting because he felt like the meager amount of food he had managed to eat on the plane was ready to come back up.  “Just give me a second.”

            Donald moved away giving Red some space.  He was not sure how to treat the criminal.  It was not the Reddington he had chased all those years, nor was he the informant Ressler had begrudgingly worked with, and eventually learned to respect. 

            Red slowly stood up, using the cot to push himself all the way to his feet. 

            Ressler did his best not to rush forward to offer aid, instead, he stood himself keeping a small distance between them, just in case Red needed assistance, “Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?” 

            Red responded, “I’m fine.”

            Before Ressler could ask Red another question, Douglass returned to the room standing off to the back with Hopewell marching into the open cell.

            “Time to talk for your freedom Raymond.”  Hopewell said marching up to Red.

            “I already told you everything I know.”  Red said gulping down air as he tried to steady himself on his feet.  Knowing that he need to be of assistance in some way he offered, “I have contacts that may have information.  But I will need to be able to contact them.”

            “Who?”  Hopewell asked ensuring he invaded Red’s personal space to make the prisoner uneasy.

            “I’d rather not say.”  Red said, “These people are not criminals.  Just old contacts that knew Veor.”

            “Then it won’t hurt for you to tell us their names,”  Hopewell said glaring at Reddington.

            Red looked at Douglass trying to get confirmation that it was ok to tell them what he had already told Douglass.

            “Don’t look at him.”  Hopewell grabbed Red’s face and turned it so he had to make eye contact with Hopewell.  “I asked you the question not him.”

            “Sorry,”  Red said softly.    

            “Time to prove your little vacation is worth the hassle.  Douglass has already requested we return you to the hole where scum like you belong.  I am starting to agree with him, that you may not actually have anything to help us.”

            Red backed up from Hopewell who loomed over him.  When the back of his knees touched the cot, he almost fell down but was able to regain his balance.  “Shen.  Might be able to give us some information of Veor’s location.”

            “Who is Shen?”  Ressler asked racking his brain for information about the contact Red had mentioned.

            “Shen was one of the largest opium farmers, exporter, and den owner in China during the early 1990’s.”  Red answered seeing the lightbulb going off in Ressler’s eyes.  The agent clearly seemed to remember the time Red had crashed his AN/AA meeting and the story Red had told him about his troubles with opium. 

            “Where is Shen these days?”  Hopewell asked.

            “I have not talked to Shen in a few years, but I am guessing his daughter and him are still somewhere in China.”  Red answered, “Though they often spent time in Manchester, England.  His daughter was attending university in Manchester last time I spoke with him.”

            “How would you contact them?”  Hopewell asked.

            “Dembe would likely have the contact information,”  Red answered swallowing in hopes of wetting his mouth that had become dry. 

            “Dembe your associate?”  Hopewell asked seeing that he was making Red nervous.

            “Yes.”

            “What a coincidence,”  Hopewell said sarcastically. “He is on his way, correct agent Ressler?”

            “Yes.”  Ressler responded feeling protective of Red he continued, “Dembe can be trusted.  He has continued to work with the task force despite Red’s absences.”

            “Let’s go wait for him Agent Ressler.”  Hopewell said before turning and leaving the cell.

            Ressler wanted to protest, but it was a clear order.  He looked at Reddington and saw nothing in the man's face.  Almost like a calm had come over him or he had disappeared somewhere in his own head. 

            As soon as the door was closed, Douglass was on Reddington grabbing the man roughly by his neck and slamming him into the wall.  Red yelped when the back of his head smashed into the cement, blurring his vision from the harsh impact.   “I thought I told you not to tell them about Shen.”

            Red could not speak in his own defense if he wanted to.  The hand around his neck was tight, cutting off his air supply.  His own hands had moved up to grab the hand cutting off his oxygen, but then as quick as he had moved them he lowered them to his side.  Douglass had trained him well not to fight back, that all it meant was more pain. 

            When Red was close to blacking out, his vision narrowing, Douglass let go, allowing Red to drop to the floor with a thud.  Gasping for oxygen, tears running down his face (a simple reaction from oxygen deprivation) he looked up at Douglass. 

            “You better hope this does not pan out.”  Douglass warned lashing out with his foot, catching Red squarely in the chest, sending him back into the wall with a thud.

            Red clutched his chest, no longer gasping in pain, as what air he had in him had been pushed out by the kick.  It was always an agonizing few seconds waiting for his muscles to relax enough to allow him to gulp in more oxygen, always feeling like death was impending. 

            “Will Dembe be a problem?”  Douglass asked looking down at Red.  Douglass expression was one of contempt, but his eyes sparkled with delight.  He truly enjoyed his job, enjoyed making scum like Reddington pays for their crimes against society. 

            “no.”  Red gasped out. 

            “Are you sure?”  Douglass kicked him again, this time catching Red’s side, sending a jolt of excruciating pain from a connection with Red’s already bruised lower back.

            “Yes.”  Red tried to protect himself by molding himself into the frame of the cot. 

            Douglass just smiled down at him, kicking Reddington a few more times.  It was the only way he could deal with the anger he felt for Agent Ressler.  The entire satiation starting with choking Red, to now kicking him, had been done as punishment for Agent Ressler making him look a fool.  When he saw Red curled into himself and the frame of the bed, shaking from pain, Douglass ended his assault and walked out of the cell locking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had to cut chapter short due to time issues.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay between post. Sara is has been traveling the US and Canada for job interviews and I've been finalizing our wedding details. Plus there was a disagreement on how the story should move forward, that we still have not completely settled.

Red had not moved from his spot on the floor. He had suffered worse at the hands of the Constant, but that did not help make the pain he felt dissipate. In his mind, he kept reminding himself he was free from the four walls that had been his home for the past few years. For now, the nasty voice in his head reminded him. As soon as they got what they wanted, if he could even help them, he was sure whatever deal they had made would disappear. Red would be returned to be tortured by the Constant until he finally died. Death, how he had wished for it many of nights curled up shaking after one of his sessions with the Constant. For the longest time, the Constant seemed to be obsessed with water. It started with forcing Red to consume large quantities of water while tied to a chair. Gallon after gallon of water was forced down his throat. The torture was simple, it was meant to humiliate him. Being tied to the chair, he was forced to piss himself and sit in his own filth. It had been punishment, he was told, for the first time he had become severely dehydrated after refusing to drink the bottles of water given to him (due to the fact that they were almost always laced with some unpleasant drugs, laxatives, and/or psychedelic). Red was forced to piss himself and sit in the filth because he could not leave the chair he was restrained to. It was supposed to be humiliating, but in truth, it was just uncomfortable.

Eventually, exhaustion from the pain and the fact that the stamina he once head disappeared after years of being confined to a small cell, Red fell asleep again curled into himself. His dreams, of course, were of torture. It was rare he escaped the world he found himself in, even in his sleep. The dreams were simply extensions of his memories of the last few years. The last few years he had suffered through because he was sure it was all deserved. That he was paying for his part in Liz's death. But she wasn't dead, and he suffered still.

Aram rushed over to Liz's and Resslers office. He had just hit the mother load. Once inside, he closed the door and looked around a bit paranoid because if anyone found out what he had been doing while he was multitasking looking for information on the name Reddington had given them, Aram knew he would have been in trouble.

"What is wrong Aram?" Liz asked seeing a familiar look on Aram's face. Triumph mixed with fear, often reserved for any dealings Aram had with Reddington.

"I found out where they have been holding Reddington," Aram said in a voice just above a whisper, looking at the door to ensure no one was coming in.

"How?" Donald asked, "We have been searching…"

"Liz told me that Captain Douglass was the man in charge of Reddington's confinement." Aram purposely avoided using the word torture. "I searched for his post. If he is still part of the Armed Forces, which he must be, then there will be a record of his latest posting."

"But how do we know it's the location?" Liz asked, "They could put anything down as his post, and we have to know way of knowing."

"Correct, they could have, that is why I searched beyond that record and was able to get access to some files that were uploaded for Director Hopewell's eyes only," Aram said.

"I don't even want to know how you did it," Ressler said knowing they were all crossing a line right now. Just knowing what Aram had found was enough to get them all charges of treason (at the worst). "What did you find?"

"Captain Douglass has been sending monthly updates. He is actually very careful. The information was never meant to be uploaded to any computer that was not air gapped. But Director Hopewell was not so careful. He uploaded the files to a computer that was not air-gapped, and he shared them with others. I am not sure exactly who yet, as I have not followed that information yet."

"Wait." Liz said confused, "How did you go from finding where Red was held at to this?"

Aram smiled, "Rather easily. Once I knew the location, I just did a general search and found that once a month a diplomatic pouch left. Every month on the 1st to be exact. It left the location and was delivered to Director Hopewell's office. The files were highly secured because each time the package was delivered I was able to discern that the Director had to sign for them himself. This meant they were beyond Top Secret. They were black files that were not supposed to exist at all."

Both Ressler and Liz were astounded by what Aram was able to do, and it had only been a few hours. They knew he was good, but this was beyond good.

Aram was getting excited and continued to talk fast, "So once I was able to set up a timeline of the packages being sent and the delivery to the Director, I hacked his computer."

"You hacked the Director of Clandestine Services computer?" Ressler asked flabbergasted.

"Yes. Both his office and his home computer."

"Will they be able to…" Ressler did not even get to finish his sentence.

"No. At least I don't think so. I was careful. If they do trace it, it won't lead back to here." Aram did not care to explain exactly how he covered his tracks, it was not legal and it was something that would make both the other agents uncomfortable. Reddington had been the only person Aram had ever used this knowledge for, and he was sure Reddington would be the last person he would ever use it for.

"Anyways" Aram continued, "The Director was not careful. I was able to track the upload of files to his hard drive both in office and again at home"

"What were in the files?" Liz asked no longer caring how Aram did it.

"They were video files." Aram said swallowing, "I copied them to a thumb drive."

"Did you see what's on the videos?" Ressler asked.

"Only briefly." Aram said, "I didn't want to get caught watching them."

"What?" Liz asked.

"Mr. Reddington was on the videos."

"What?"

"Hours of Mr. Reddington's life, since he first entered the facility they were holding him at." Aram did not know if he should give Liz and Donald the thumb drive, from the few seconds he had seen, it was not pleasant. Mr. Reddignton did deserve some privacy.

"They recorded it?" Liz said.

"Yes. Based on the size and number of files I would say most of it." Aram responded shifting uncomfortably. "The Director appeared to access some of the files often. I only looked at the one he accessed the most." Aram looked down at the memory of what he had seen in the brief few seconds of the video. "There are also notes that correspond to each file."

"Notes by whom?" Ressler asked seeing that his partner was now pale. Ressler himself felt sick to his stomach and he had yet to see what they had done to Reddington.

"Captain Douglass. It includes the profile by Agent Keen, Douglass own profile, all of the case notes from Agent Ressler, and detailed analyses of each session with Reddington."

"No one else can know about this," Ressler said.

"I know." Aram said, "I have no told anyone else."

"Is that the drive you have saved them to?" Liz asked noting the thumb drive finally that Aram had been clutching in one of his hands.

"Yes." Aram answered, "But I don't think we should watch the videos."

"Why?" Liz asked wanting to know exactly what Red had suffered.

"Because Mr. Reddington deserves his privacy." Aram said, "I only copied them because I wanted proof of what had happened."

"Proof for what?" Liz asked.

"If they do not keep their deal." Aram said, "I will use the information to help him."

Before Ressler or Liz could ask Aram what he would do with the information, Samar interrupted their conversation by walking in.

"Dembe is here," Samar said noting the looks on everyone in the room. There was something going on, she thought but decided not to ask what the three had been conspiring about.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry one of us has been traveling the US/Canada non-stop looking for a new job and took the only laptop with them.

It felt almost like old times, Liz sitting on a couch in an expensive hotel suite waiting for Reddington to appear from one of the rooms.  But it was not like old times, this time Liz sat on the couch having seen only a small portion of the videos that Aram was able to obtain.  While Dembe had been meeting with Reddington, Harold, and the Director of Clandestine Services Mr. Hopewell, Liz had convinced Aram to let her see.  It had not taken much to convince her friend that she needed to know what Red had gone through so she could know how to help him.  Purely professional reasons, she was a trained to deal with trauma like what Red may have gone through.

            She only lasted ten minutes into the video before she felt tears running down her face.  The video started off with Red strapped down to a wooden bench with a huge bucket under the bench where his head rested.  When the door open, she heard him ask in an almost bored voice, “Haven’t you tried of trying to drown me yet?”

            She heard Douglass chuckle before she saw him in the frame of the camera. 

            “You know the rules, no talking unless you are answering my questions.”

            “Must be the lack of oxygen that keeps making me forget.”  Red quipped back. 

            Douglass response was just a dry laugh and more men entered the room.  Two of them grabbed Red’s shoulders and ensured the strap holding him down was secure, while the third checked on his torso and leg straps, at least that what it looked like in the video.  Only Douglass and one of the other guards stayed in the room. 

            It started off slowly.  A towel was shoved into Red’s mouth, forced inside after a few punches to the face resulted in Red opening his mouth to spit blood.  Once the towel was inside, Douglass held it in place glaring down at Red.  The other man quickly started pour water, little amounts at first and then more and more with each pour.  Eventually, both Douglass and the man were taking turns pouring water over Red’s head.  With both men dumping water over him, Red never got a break from the water. 

            It was when she saw Red’s entire body struggling against the restraints.  He made no sound, but his body was fighting the restraints so violently that the bench actually shook.  Both men just laughed and told jokes to each other while they continued to pour water over Red.  They stopped after what seemed like forever, but when she looked at the video time she realized it had been only five minutes.  Removing the rag, Douglass asked Red questions about his business, and Red never answered them.  He just glared up at Douglass.  Then it all started over again.  She stopped the video when all the struggle went out of Red who was clearly unconscious, and yet Douglass and his man kept pouring water over him.

            With the knowledge that this was only a small part of what Red had endured, Lizzie was not sure how she was going to face him.  She did not get a chance to answer her own question because Red emerged from the room he had disappeared into with tailor and Douglass.  The tailor had been told Douglass was one of Red’s new henchmen.  It was important that the criminal world believes that Raymond Reddington was back in town after a long vacation.  The first step in the process was having him look the part.  The suits Dembe had brought were all way too big on Red.  The tailor had been contacted to take in three of the suits and to do the rest and have them delivered to Dembe. 

            Red looked the part again as if he easily slipped back into character.  A new fedora in one hand, his crisp black suit was a stark contrast to his pale skin.  Lizzie realized something would have to be done about how pale Red was.  A man who had slipped into retirement would not be as pale as Red was, only someone who had not seen daylight for a very long time would resemble Red’s current coloring. 

            Red’s hesitance was still there, Liz noticed, how he glanced over at Douglass a few times while he politely dismissed his tailor. 

            “You look better,”  Liz said standing up and walking over to the bar to pour both of them drinks.  She noticed a slight twitch in Red’s hand again.  “Have a drink.”  She handed him one glaring at Douglass daring him to say something.  Before they left the post office, Hopewell had dressed down Douglass who had fought tooth and nail for Red to remain confined to the post office. 

            “Have you made contact yet with your person?”  Douglass asked moving towards Red who was taking a sip of the bourbon Lizzie had just poured him.

            “Dembe has.”  Red answered, “He should be calling back anytime now.”

            “Where is Dembe?”  Douglass asked wondering if they were planning on breaking Red out of custody because now would be a great opportunity thanks to Hopewell’s insistence that Red should be allowed to leave the post office as part of his cover.

            “Likely contacting my other associates to ensure they know I’m back.”  Red said seeing anger flash over Douglass' face, quick to dispel any concern, “It is necessary.  Word needs to get out that I am coming out of retirement.  It is the only way Veor will deal with me.  If he thinks I have something to give him.  If I’m retired, there is nothing to offer.  I would not contact him.” 

            Douglass seemed to be placated, walking away to sit by the door.  Red sat in the chair next to the couch, choosing not to sit by Lizzie.  Resting his head back against the back of the chair, he tired to ignore the pain he felt in his lower back.  Douglass kidney punches did damage, Red had noticed blood in his urine before.  Based on the dull pain, he assumed his kidneys were just bruised and would heal with time.  It was not the first time the Constant had bruised his kidney’s.  If it got worse, he would say something to someone, but for now, he had a job to do.  Innocent lives were at risk if he could not convince Shen to help him find Veor.  Though he fully expected Veor was not the culprit, it did not seem like Veor’s MO.  These attacks across the globe did not aid in the rise of the USSR again.  That is all Veor wanted.         

* * *

 

            “Are you hungry?”  Liz asked looking at Red with her sad eyes. 

            Had it been any other time, he would have tried to make her feel better, to lessen her pain.  But he was too exhausted to do that, and he was not sure he wanted to lessen her pain.  He fully accepted it was his fault that he was captured and tortured.  However, she had betrayed him, faking her death just to get away from him.  He had accepted his fate, accepted the torture only because it was penance for her death.  But she was alive the entire time living out her life.  The monster inside of him had been unleashed on the world because he thought she was dead.  He had killed many of a people, and it was all for nothing.  He became what she always saw in him for nothing.  He suffered for nothing.  That bitterness was hidden deep inside, as he had learned to do throughout his life, but when he saw her sad eyes looking at him, it threatened to surface.

            “No.”  The pain in his lower back and the fact he was not used to eating much had left him without much of an appetite. 

            Before she could try to convince him he needed to eat, her cell phone rang.  Excusing herself she answered her phone to find Samar on the other line.

            “Agnes and I are outside.  I thought you might want to see her for a bit.”  Samar said not stating the fact that he was sure Reddington would like to see how the little girl had grown. 

            Liz gave him the suite number and smiling.  It was a dirty trick but she knew Agnes would break the ice between her and Red. 

            “Who was that?”  Douglass asked from the door.

            “Agent Navabi is on her way up with my daughter,”  Liz responded noting a quick emotion flash across Red’s face, but she could not place it because it came and went so fast.

            “You would let your daughter around him.”  Douglass spat out full of venom.

            “Yes,”  Liz answered without hesitation, but remembering a time that she had done everything in her power, betraying her friends by faking her death to ensure her daughter never had anything to do with Raymond Reddington.  How the times have changed, she thought looking at Red. 

            Nervous, Liz realized Red was nervous, it was in how he kept shifting in his seat and then looking at Douglass.  Right now she would give almost anything to hear him launch into one of his stories that only annoyed her before.

            When Agnes walked into the room she rushed right over to her mother.  Liz lifted the toddler off the ground hugging her and kissing the top of her head.  “How as your time with Auntie Charlene?”

            “Fun mommy.”  Agnes excitement was infectious as she recounted everything she had done that day with Charlene.  It was a full minute before the toddler even noticed there were people she did not know in the room.  It was then that her shyness kicked in.  She hid her face in her mommies shoulder. 

            “Agnes I want you to meet a friend of mommies.”  Elizabeth said walking towards Red.  “This is…”  She paused for a second trying to think of what to call him, “Red.”   

            Agnes giggled, even with her face buried in her mother's shoulder.  She whispered , “Funny name.”

            “That’s because it’s not his real name.  It’s a nickname.  Like when I call you peanut.”  Liz said looking at Red in apology. 

            Agnes finally lifted her head and turned to look at Red.  Her little child eyes took him in.  “You dressed fancy.”

            “I am.”  Red answered smoothing his suit out as he stood up.  “It is nice to meet you Agnes.”

            Agnes giggled into her mother's shoulder.  It was a nervous giggle.  She was a friendly child, but just unsure of strangers.

            “How old are you Agnes?”  Red asked trying to engage the little girl.

            Agnes lifted her head again and answered by holding up her index and middle finger.

            “How many is that again?”  Red asked smiling at the little girl.

            “I’m two.” Agnes giggled at the old man not knowing how to count.

            “You are.”  Red said.

            “How old are you?”  Agnes asked because it was what everyone asked her when they first meant her. 

            “Agnes.”  Liz chastised her trying not to laugh.

            “I’m an old man.”  Red said not giving his age simply because he was not 100% confident at that moment.  He still did not have a great sense of time.  Dembe and the others had told him the date a few times, but it was something that just slipped his mind.

            “Why you dressed so fancy?”

            “I wanted to look nice when I meant you.”  Red answered.

            Agnes struggled to get out of her mother's grasp, so Liz set her down on the ground.

            Agnes walked up to Red, her previous shyness disappearing.  “Only bad guys wear those.”  Agnes pointed out the fedora resting on the arm of the chair.  “Are you a bad guy?”

            Liz and Samar’s combined glare kept Douglass from speaking.

            “That’s debatable.  But I would never hurt you or your mommy, and I would never let anyone you or your mommy.”

             “What your favorite color?”

            “Hmm.”  Red seemed to be deep in thought, “I think it is blue.” 

            “My favorite color is yellow.”

            “Like the sun.”

            “No like a smile face.”

            Red chuckled, a real chuckle, he sat back down in his chair and Agnes walked over to him.

            “You look tired.”  Agnes said, “Did you refuse to take a nap today?”

            Red laughed along with most people in the room (except Douglass).  “No.  I did not refuse a nap today.”

            “I hate taking naps. Mommy says when I’m five I can stop.”  While she was speaking the sound of her stomach growling filled the room.

            “Are you hungry?”  Red asked her.

            “Yes.  I want a hamburger.”

            Red looked at Lizzie and asked, “Do you mind if we order her a hamburger.  They have the very best here.”

            “Only if you will eat something too.”  Lizzie said.

            “Hamburgers for everyone then.”  Red said going to grab the phone but stopping before he pulled it from the cradle as Douglass stood up and was walking towards him.  Trying to look unfazed Red spoke, “Lizzie do you mind ordering the food for us all.”

            “Sure.”  Liz said stepping between Douglass and Red and her daughter.

            “I’ll just go have a seat.”  Red said moving back to the chair to placate Douglass. 

            Douglass glared at him before continuing to move towards one of the empty rooms to make a call to Hopewell.  This was getting out of hand, Reddington deserved to be in chains waiting in a cell, not sitting in a comfortable suite talking to some innocent child.

            “Are you ok?”  Agnes asked noticing how her new friend grunted as he sat down.

            “Just old back.”  Red answered with a smile.

            “Read me a story.”  Agnes asked looking to Samar who had her superhero backpack her mommy bought her after she threw a fit at the store.  She did not want the Barbie backpack.  Barbie’s were not as cool as Black Widow! 

            “I can try.”  Red said not sure if his eyes would hold up without his reading glasses.           Samar handed Agnes her children’s kindle and she rushed over to Red.  With the help of Red lifting her, causing his lower back to scream in agony he ignored, she was able to sit comfortably on Red’s lap. 

            “You are going to have to show me how to work this thing.”  Red said looking at it like it was an alien artifact.

            “Red is bad with gadgets like Uncle Ressler.”  Samar said taking a seat on the couch smiling at Red.

            “Ok.”  Agnes said sighing as if she were annoyed.  She walked him through the entire process of unlocking the kindle, choosing a story, and how to turn the pages. 

            “Agnes why don’t you make the font larger for Red.  He is old after all, and his eyes aren’t all that great.”  Samar added smiling at Red who just smiled back at her.

             

            When Liz returned to the room from having ordered room service and then speaking with Douglass and Hopewell, she took in the scene before her.  Agnes was sitting on Red’s lap, her head resting on his chest while he read to her in his intoxicating voice.  Her little girls were so taken with his reading that she did not even look up when Liz walked back into the room.  Lizzie took a seat next to Samar and like her daughter, Red had her undivided attention while he read the children’s book.

            By the time he finished, the food arrived and they all ate. Agnes did most of the talking asking Red questions and telling him about herself.  Red patiently answered every question asked of him until Agnes asked him where he had been the last two years?  Was he away working like her daddy?

            Red looked at Lizzie not sure how to answer the toddler's question.  Instead of answering he asked her what her daddy did, knowing that it was a bad subject given the absences of Tom Keen, but it was better than explaining what prison was to a toddler. 

            It seemed to have done the trick because Agnes moved on seeming to have forgotten what she asked. 

            Dembe came into the suite phone in hand having dropped the tailor off on his way back Shen returned the call with information. 

            “Uncle DB”  Agnes called out taking a drink of her milkshake mommy ordered her.  It was Liz’s attempt to try to put weight back on Red. 

            “Hello princess,”  Dembe said smiling at her. 

            “Uncle DB know Red?”

            “I know Red.”  Dembe said, “He is a friend of mine.” 

            “Oh.”  Agnes said feeling like Dembe took the wind out of her sails.  “He read to me.”

            “He did.”  Dembe said smiling at her, “You better eat your dinner princess before your mom gets upset.” 

            Agnes smiled at him and took another drink of her shake.

            “Agnes you need to eat some of your hamburger.  I don’t want you filling up on a milkshake.” 

            “I am mommy.”

            “We received a call.”  Dembe said looking at Red who looked almost like his old self, and anyone who had not spent a significant amount of time around him would not see the differences. The way Raymond held himself, unsure and almost uncomfortable in his own skin, peaked out occasionally in the way he moved and acted.  There were other signs too, Ray’s eyes always searched out to find Douglass, to see where the man was located in the room relative to him.  There was also the fact that anytime Douglass was near, Ray appeared to try to shield Agnes and anyone else from Douglass.

            “When?”

            “Later this evening.”  Dembe said, “I can update Director Hopewell.”  Dembe did not leave Red a chance to disagree, as Dembe believed Red should spend as much time as possible with Elizabeth and Agnes.

            Red went back to watching Agnes drink her milkshake and take a bite from her hamburger.  Red had barely touched his own food.  It did not get past his notice the way Lizzie kept looking over at his plate. He hoped she had the sense not to ask why he was not eating in front of Agnes.  The fact that he had consumed only bland boring food, in small amounts, over the past few years, something like a hamburger and milkshake was too much for him.  He already felt nauseous from pain and anxiety, adding too much food on top of that would have him in the bathroom. 

            “Red.”  Agnes called his name drawing him away from his own thoughts.

            “Yes?”  He asked.

            “Will you read another story?”  Agnes asked.

            “Not tonight.”  Liz intervened, “You need to go home and get ready for bed after dinner.”

            Agnes wanted to protest but her mother's look was enough to stop her. 

            “Maybe another time.”  Red said to the little girl feeling like he was lying to her because he was not sure there would be another time. 

            “Mommy you home tonight?”  Agnes asked.

            “Yes.  Later tonight.  For now, Auntie Charlene will stay with you.”

            “You promise?”

            “Yes peanut.”  Liz responded hoping she would keep this promise.  “Let’s get your toys picked up, Auntie Charlene and Uncle Baz will be here soon to take you home.”

            “Ok.”  Agnes responded moving to help her mother pick up her toys.

            Red was distracted from watching the mother-daughter duo clean up when Dembe walked back into the room with Douglass.

            “Director Hopewell wants to meet before we leave.”  Douglass said glaring at Reddington. 

            “When?”  Elizabeth asked from her spot on the floor with her daughter.

            “Now.  He’s on his way over.”  Douglass answered, “She needs to be gone by time he gets here.”

            “She will be.”  Elizabeth said glaring back at Douglass.

            Red stepped between the two to take the heat off Lizzie, he was worried what Douglass might do to her, given the chance.

             “When do we leave?”  Red asked Douglass his voice not as strong as he had hoped.  He found some strength to fight against the power Douglass had over him, in his suit of armor, but it was not enough to overcome years of torture at this man's hands. 

            “A few hours from now.”  Douglass responded turning his glare on Reddington, who noticeably wilted some at the glare. 

           

           


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had this sitting around for awhile. Posting it now without having edited it. Sorry for the wait.

            Red could not stop himself from shifting uncomfortably in the backseat of the Mercedes that Dembe was driving. It was being back in the car, in his 3-piece armor, and assuming the role of the Concierge of Crime after almost 2 years of being a prisoner of the state, all of this and much more is what had him uncomfortable.  It did not help that the man who’s hands he had suffered by was sitting next to him.  Threateningly close next to him, reminding him that when this was over it was unlikely the government would keep their end of the deal.  After much pleading, Red managed to convince Lizzie to stay back. That meant Ressler came with them, and he rode in the front seat with Dembe.  It was a small miracle Lizzie had listened, but Red had a bad feeling about this meeting with Durk. Reminding Lizzie of Agnes and the need to have her mother around had seem to do the trick.

Durk was a firecracker with a short fuse.  Sometimes he blew up in your face. But it was all for nothing because Durk never showed up to the agreed meeting.  Red had convinced the Constant (Douglass, he had to remind himself) and Ressler to wait just a bit longer.  But no one ever showed. This was not a good sign, Red had been out of the game for too long.  People would have talked about his disappearance, about how the FBI and the US government got to him. Dembe and Kate may have kept the business going, but his empire was much larger than the man who had built it.  The man who built it was disposable, and word would have gotten around about his possible betrayal of his own empire.

They were on a small dirt road surrounded by cornfields. As they approached the intersection, Red saw a flash in his peripheral vision before the world started to rotate.  It took his brain time to catch up to the fact that they had just been t-boned, and the Mercedes he was in was flipping.  Seconds later, the car stopped, landing on the hood, and leaving the occupants of the car hanging upside down. Their seatbelts holding them inside the car. Pain suddenly filtered into his senses, his left shoulder to be specific and his head.  Hanging upside down brought back memories of being hung upside down, his head in a sink filling with water.  Struggling to lift himself up out of the water, his stomach and back muscles burning from the strain, eventually they would give out and he would fall back into the cold water.  The Constant always waited until he stopped struggling to pull him out.  How many times had he woken up with the Constant standing over him welcoming him back to life. 

Gasping for breath, either from the memory or the pain, Red reminded himself he was in a car, and the coldness was just the air outside. Lifting his arms above his head, he hissed as more pain erupted in his left shoulder. Using his right hand, he undid his seatbelt, quickly moving his hand to try to catch himself, unsuccessfully, before he smashed into the roof of the car.  Biting his cheek, he held the scream in as his shoulder connected with the hard metal roof. It was too dark out to see the other passengers in the car, but he heard a groan above him.  The Constant survived the crash, and was moving to get out of his seat.  Red started to crawl with one arm, clutching his left arm to his chest.  The broken passenger window glass was cutting into his hand and knees as he crawled over it to get out of the car.  Before he was able to exit via the broken window, two sets of hands grabbed him dragging him outside of the car throwing him to the ground.  Looking up at the figures that pulled him from the car, he saw two people in ski mask their guns aimed at his head. 

Lifting his good arm he kept his left arm cradled against his body, “I’m unarmed.”  He voices rough with pain. 

“Don’t move.”  One of the masked men said as the other advanced on Red.

Red remained still even as he saw the intent of the men were to secure him in a zip tie cuffs.  Against his instinct, Red remained unmoving even as one of the masked men roughly grabbed his hands and secured them tightly behind his back.  Red closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain as it felt like bone was rubbing against bone in his left shoulder.  The position of his arms only exacerbated the pain. 

Red’s eyes shot open when he heard the Constant voice ordering the masked men to drop their weapons.  Before Douglass could do much else, a third man rushed him from behind, quickly disarming the military man. From his spot kneeling on the ground, Red heard Douglass struggle and the sound of a fist against flesh. If it were not for the blood running down his face into his eyes, Red would have seen Douglass curled into the fetal position in agony. 

One of the men who had hold of Red’s arm, pulled a black hood over his face, then ushered him to a car.  He was helped into the back hatch of an SUV and further secured to the floor by a chain and leg cuffs.  Sensing more than feeling, Douglass being shoved inside the car with him.  Red grunted when the other man's body landed on his injured shoulder, Douglass was clearly still conscious because he was fighting against the men shoving him into the SUV.  The sound of more punches alerted Red that Douglass was likely on the losing end of the battle.  Eventually, Douglass stilled and Red heard the hatch slam close. 

“Are these your people?”  Douglass seethed with anger as he spoke. 

The anger Red heard made his blood run cold at the memory of that voice.  That voice always meant more pain, more suffering, and some of the more sadistic tortures always followed that voice.  Trying to remind himself that there were bigger issues at play beyond the Constants displeasure, Red responded, “No.  And you should keep quiet.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”  If it were not for the anger in the Constants voice, Red would have laughed at the childish statement. 

“They are likely listening.  If they wanted us dead we would already be dead.”   

Douglass started to yell and scream mixing between calls for help and cussing out their captors.  Red remained silent and tried to keep track of the turns and movement of the SUV, but he could not focus for long.  His head ached fiercely, but most of all he was worried about Dembe, and as much as he would have hated to admit Ressler too.  Why had they taken him and the Constant, leaving Dembe and Ressler, unless the other two were confirmed dead already. 

The occupants of the SUV eventually responded to Douglass’s screams by turning up the techno music. The music, if you could call it music, the words fuck you screamed over and over along with the electronic beats, made Red’s head throb in time with the beats of the song.  There was a small pause a minute into the song where he hoped it was over, but no the song just started up again.  At this time, Douglass was struggling in his bonds, causing Red pain as the man bucked and pushed against his bruised body.  Eventually, Douglass gave up and the music was turned back down to a reasonable level, if techno music had a reasonable level. 

They seemed to drive forever, or at least long enough for Red’s arms and legs to go numb.  The warm fluid that he assumed was his own blood had stopped flowing down his face and neck.  

=================

 Dembe awoke to pain and a world that was upside down.  Quickly he cut himself free from his seatbelt, looking to the back of the car seeing it empty.  Where was Raymond?  Looking over to the passenger seat, he found Ressler still unconscious.  Dembe worked through the pain to free Ressler, and gently lower the agent to the roof of the overturn car.  Climbing out Dembe scanned the area and only found headlights above, a path in the cornfield had been made by the flipping car.  Dragging Ressler out of the car, Dembe moved him a safe distance from the car.  With Ressler away from the car Dembe climbed up the small embankment to find the car that t-boned them sitting in the intersection.  The engine long dead, but the headlights still working off of the battery.  There was no sign of Raymond or Douglass.  Reaching for his pocket Dembe did not find the burner phone he kept there.  He quickly searched the truck that had t-boned them and found nothing inside.  Giving up on finding a phone, he went back down to check on Ressler.  Dembe searched the unconscious agent and did not find a phone on him either.  Whoever t-boned them must have taken their phones.  Looking around there was no sign of civilization.  No farmhouses lit in the distance, just the dark night sky over them.  Clouds quickly covering all of the light, Dembe feared snow or even worse a cold rain was coming their way. 

As he was forming a plan of action, he heard Ressler groan in pain.  Rushing over to the agent, Dembe spoke to him, “Agent Ressler?”

“I felt like I got hit by a truck.”  Ressler groaned his entire body ached.

“That would be a correct assessment.”  Dembe would have been amused had the situation not been so dire right now.  Raymond was missing, they had no way of contacting anyone, and as the adrenaline wore off Dembe felt pain his leg along with a warm substance running down it, he knew was his own blood.

“Where is Reddington?”

“Gone with Douglass.”

“Son of a bitch,”  Ressler said still laying on the ground reaching into his coat to find his phone but finding nothing.

“WE need to move.”  Dembe said, “Can you stand?”

“I think,”  Ressler said groaning as he sat up. 

Dembe offered him a hand and Ressler took it allowing Dembe to pull him up to his feet. 

“We are going to have to walk.”  Dembe said looking at the embankment wondering if he would be able to get back up again.

Ressler and Dembe leaned on each other, helping one another up the hill, both injured and in pain.  Their progress was slow but eventually soaked in sweat they both made it to the top. 

“Jesus.”  Ressler said when he saw the shape of the truck that had t-boned them.  “Are you sure the other two were not thrown from the car?”

“Yes,”  Dembe answered panting from pain.  “We need to move.”

“Just give me a second.”  Ressler pushed the sleeve of his shirt against his head trying to stem the pain. 

“We do not have long.”  Dembe answered looking at his leg in the light.  It did not look good, but he would push through the pain. 

“Let’s go.”  Ressler said seeing the state of Dembe’s leg.  He allowed the bigger man to lean against him more, as they made their way down the dirt road towards a farm house they hoped was only a short mile away. 

======================

Sitting in Coopers office drinking coffee, Hopewell was getting nervous. They had not heard from the four men and the rendezvous time had long passed.  All of their phones went directly to voicemail.  Did Reddington’s people make a move to take him back?  Did the deal turn sour?  Did Reddington’s contact help them and they were just out of cell phone range still?  All of this and more whirled around Hopewell’s brain. 

Cooper walked into his office, “Still no word on our end.”

“Same here,”  Hopewell answered studying Cooper.  “Do you think Reddington’s people would have made a move?”

After considering the question, Cooper responded, “No.”

“How confident are you?”

“Reddington and his people have formed a sort of bond with Agent Ressler.  They would not injure him or kill him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Otherwise, you all would never have gotten your hands on Reddington.”

“Agent Ressler was the one to arrest him.”  Hopewell noted in favor of why Reddington and his people may have no issue with killing or hurting the agent.

“Reddington let him.”

Aram knocked on the door nervously fidgeting outside.

“Come in,”  Cooper called out to his agent.

“Agent Keen called.”  Aram blurted out quickly, “To check on the status.”

“What did you tell her?”  Hopewell asked pondering how the connection between Reddington and the task force.  That connection could be leveraged to keep Reddington cooperating, when they took him back to a black site prison.  It was an advantaged they did not use before because (1) they did not want Reddington to know Keen was alive and (2) they did not know how strong the bond was between Reddington and the other task force members.  Now that he knew Keen was alive, and they knew the strength of the bond, it was something that could be leveraged.  It might be worth the hassle to get the Concierge of Crime back out there, using him to take down enemies of the Cabal and the US government. 

“Nothing.  That they were still at the meeting or outside of cell phone range.” Aram answered, “I still have no trace on either of them.”

“I’m sure everything is fine,”  Cooper said more for the Director of Clandestine Services sake.  Cooper was confident they would hear from Reddington and the others within the hour.

“Anything else?”  Hopewell asked annoyed at Aram’s presence. 

“No.”  Aram scurried away quickly.  He hated being around Hopewell and Douglass.  After having seen some of the videos of what those men were responsible for doing to Reddington, it unnerved Aram even more.  

“Did we ever figure out how Reddington and Keen are connected?”  Hopewell asked as he continued to ponder using the team against Reddington.

“No. Did your people?” Cooper asked wondering how much information HOpewel and his people had taken from Reddington.  Cooper had been unable to obtain any information on Reddington’s treatment while in custody or what if anything they had extracted during their sessions with Reddington. 

“No.”  Hopewell responded promptly.  “But he seems to be willing to do a lot for her.  Do you think he loves her?”

“I would not presume to know.”  Cooper was not comfortable with this conversation because he could see how the CIA, NSA, and others could use this knowledge against Reddington. 

“But you’ve known them both for years now.  Watched them closely.  You must have a hypothesis.”

“I do not.”  Cooper said, “At first it bothered me that Reddington seemed to know more about everything and everyone, but eventually I learned to accept it because of all of the good he was doing with his blacklist.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let us know what you think. We sure have enjoyed imaginging and re-imagining it.


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